So Dina and I packed up the house in San Diego, consolidated our family treasures into a single storage unit, gave away everything else, and moved off into the world.
Dina took her kids in the minivan and road-tripped through California before flying off to Tuolumne, Mexico. I took my kids in the Corolla and drove north, into the mountains of Mendocino County, to a small organic family farm.
Bramble Mountain Farm is a 20-acre heirloom owned by a pair of good-humored lovebirds named Autumn and Craig. They built a charming strawbale house and birthed a son, who is now seven. Two other workers live on the farm full-time. Now that I’m here, our crew totals five adults and three children. We have several large gardens, an orchard of fruit trees, a tribe of chickens (and baby chicks!), a herd of goats (and baby goats!), a pack of dogs, an assortment of cats, a sweet little rabbit, and wildlife galore.
The beauty of the land defies description, so I’ll just add a few pictures to this post. Please note, however, that pictures do no real justice to the wild majesty of this mountain refuge.
Upon arrival, I set up a tee-pee tent. One week later, friends delivered an old travel trailer and set to work converting it into a solar-powered tiny house, fitted throughout with reclaimed redwood paneling and custom furniture. I followed up with art, tapestries, twinkly lights, and a mini-fridge.
Exiting mainstream modern society and moving onto a rugged rural farm is a Major Adjustment. For one thing, there is no reliable internet or cellphone service; I drive twenty minutes to the town of Willits in order to Facetime my parents. There are rattlesnakes, ticks, and mosquitos to contend with. Travel between the tiny house, outdoor kitchen, and outhouse involves multiple hilly hikes. The kids are covered in dirt and dust, almost all of the time.
But I am fully immersed in the real work of regenerative farming and community building. My little ones get to enjoy open-air, nature-based education with the support of progressive homeschool curriculum. I am learning about herbalism, permaculture, building, and animal husbandry. I pick wild arugula and stick it straight into my mouth, balancing its spice with a sweet cherry tomato, warm from the sun.
My belief—and now my personal experience—is that deeply connecting with Mother Earth is the simplest way to recover our senses after living in a society that systematically separates us. And, if we truly want to improve maternal mental health and end childhood trauma, moving away from broken, blocked, outdated, and oppressive institutions becomes an essential first step.
Times of tremendous uncertainty, overwhelming fear, and great loss require enormous courage, strong faith, and profound awareness. The maps of the previous generation do not apply in this landscape. We must dust off our inner compasses, and listen to the stars.
Dina & Gina briefly discuss the restorative power of a Real Good Hug.
Looking to the other side of this COVID-19 quarantine, we've made a remarkable discovery!
It's time for The Mama Bear Sanctuary to hit the road. The seeds we've incubated here--organic gardening, homeschooling, community building, expressive movement and the healing arts--have sprouted so abundantly that we've outgrown our house in the city more quickly than "planned."
Since the ultimate Mama Bear Sanctuary vision centers around regenerative family farming, it makes sense that our next stop would be.... (drum roll) FARM LIFE!
For the next month, we'll be consolidating all of our material belongings such that everything we own fits into one 10x10 storage unit, and our vehicles. Dina will soon be sporting a converted Sprinter Van, while Gina has a tiny house on wheels in the works.
We're connecting with other mamas who share the same dream, and although we won't all be in the same place at the same time, we're weaving a new narrative together. Eventually, we want to establish hubs around the world where families can live, work, play, and build in harmony with each other and the earth.
Meanwhile, we are missionaries on the move! We'll create pop-up educational experiences, dance parties, and wellness workshops wherever we go. The tools, wisdom, and skills we gather and share along the way will be available on our You Tube channel. Stay tuned!
Due to an abundance of self (and therefore social) responsibility,
we have converted our living room into a dance floor.
There is A LOT of stress and fear and overwhelm floating around in the world. Or rather, these factors, already present in our individual (and therefore collective) systems, orchestrated a timely eruption.
Life-as-we-knew-it no longer functions.
When navigating new territory, embodied intuition guides our steps. We cultivate this connection in many ways. These include, and are unlimited to: music, movement, and meditation.
Today we went for a great adventure to help our friends at Hawkeye Ranch build a pond on their land. They've got lots of permaculture projects underway, and we're always up for an opportunity to learn!
It started with digging a great big hole, deep enough to expose large quantities of natural clay in the earth. Adding water to make the clay workable, we then squished and smeared and spread the clay all over the walls of the hole. Of course, the kids spent a lot of time simply squeezing it between their toes; occasionally attempting to throw some.
Mud is great for the microbiome, which means immunity. It's also a useful form of sunscreen. Plus, it's a delightfully grounding sensory experience. The kids were in exuberantly good moods for the rest of the day!
Once the hole is totally coated in mud, they'll light a fire inside. The heat from the flames will harden the clay so that it is able to hold water on its own. Eventually the pond will be home to tilapia whose poop makes perfect food for plants. This is called aquaponics, and it's a brilliant way to to grow happy fruits and veggies.
There we were, putting out the word about our Backyard Homeschool, scheduling workshops (Planting & Poetry!) and making moves on our various goals and initiatives.
Suddenly, everything froze.
No more places to go. No more people coming over. No more events and classes and gigs and gatherings. Just this new trend in responsibility called “social distancing.”
Thankfully, Dina and I are both well-connected with our tribe online, and we have continued to drop into virtual containers for dance jams, meetings, and parties. Our pantry and refrigerator are full of food, we still have quite a few rolls of toilet paper, and there’s plenty of soap. Most magnificently, we have each other.
That’s right. The so-called apocalypse has arrived, and I happen to be bunkered with a beautiful woman. After all, you never can tell what may surface for people during a crisis, or how they’ll respond when faced with intense fear and stress. Even the most serene human beings may turn savage, or strange. I feel incredibly blessed to be partnered with Dina. She is not technically my wife, nor the target of my romantic attention, but she is 100% my significant other when it comes to this household, and she’s holding super steady. In fact, she is showing up in amplified beauty, wisdom, and grace.
Today we rearranged the furniture in the common areas. What once resembled our living room is now a full-blown movement and play space. The couch is cozied up in the dining area near the kitchen, calling people to gather more intimately around food and conversation.
It’s not just the physical space that’s getting a face-lift. We’re also sweeping up around the edges of our boundaries with the kids’ fathers, who have come to stay. We’re leaning into new layers of healing in our generational inheritance, aka “mother wounds” and “father wounds.” We’re softening into a deeper surrender with stay-home, full-time mothering, and—like magic—we’re merging it with our work in the world. Indeed, with everything else suspended or stripped, it’s easy to feel what we’re working with.
We’ll continue cultivating our offerings to moms and families with our You Tube channel! (Click here to subscribe.) Choose from yoga dance parties and family-friendly guided meditations to ayurvedic cooking tutorials, gardening projects, and more.
We kicked off the month with some deep mind-body clarity...and we're coming out the other side with a strong vision for our first major project, along with new key players!
We are officially building toward The Mama Bear Sanctuary's BACKYARD SCHOOL. The Backyard School is a Waldorf-inspired holistic homeschool cooperative for children ages 2-5. We believe in learning through play and hands-on experience. Our daily activities center around gardening, literacy, math, art, and music. In addition, we emphasize social-emotional skill building and promote mindfulness in communication, cooperation, and creativity! The school offers lots of time in nature, organic food, and fun field trips about town.
But of course, baby steps.
Step one: meet Jeanne. She is a beautiful human with over 20 years of childcare experience who will be offering a nanny-share at the Mama Bear Sanctuary, four mornings a week!
Jeanne adores children of all ages, and finds great fulfillment in creating a safe, supportive, and structured environment for them to thrive. She facilitates discovery through play, art, dancing, singing, reading, writing, nature walks, yoga, healthy eating and lots of love. Jeanne is a certified children's yoga teacher and looks forward to growing with us!
We have three spaces available now...
Send us a message if you want to come visit!
When Dina and I moved into this house less than two months ago, our menstrual cycles kept completely different clocks.
Last month, they came within a week of each other.
Yesterday, Dina’s first words to me upon rising were, “Your period will probably be starting soon, because mine just did.”
“Public Service Announcement! Your period is on its way!” I said, in a deep and nerdy voice.
My cycle showed up an hour later. Evidently, we’ve dropped into another regenerative rhythm and precisely synchronized menstrual cycles. It also happens to be the full moon.
We’ve seen that intentions planted here at The Mama Bear Sanctuary bloom as if saturated in fertilizer, since Dina and I are committed to composting our “shit.” So, when Dina suggested that we announce an official release of whatever old patterns or limiting beliefs are cramping our style, I jumped in!
Dina stated her intention (and here I paraphrase):
I am done giving someone else power over how I feel, think, speak, or behave.
I ask my blood to bind to this old energy and take it to the earth, where it is healed.
My turn. While several known cramp-causers blipped across my radar, I told Dina I would sit with the question and see what wanted to arise. Moving forward into the day, I didn’t contrive or squint. And holy wow, “shit” popped right out!
Lounging in the living room with my three daughters that evening, I noticed an unusually strong and restless emotional itch. My reflex was to scratch it with external supports, such as snacks, or social interactions. I felt the pull to pick up my phone—seeking connection, wanting to feel wanted for more than domestic services. Instead of reaching out, I leaned in. What’s this? I sensed the pulsing of an underlying void, laced in loneliness and fear. I sensed the subconscious belief that I’m not enough, how and where I am. I sensed the conviction that something else could make it better. In this case, that something was kombucha. An external support, of course, but perhaps less invasive to my process? Promising soup to the children, I excused myself to the store.
What I really needed was some personal space. As soon as I was alone in the car, I burst into a spontaneous sort of singing prayer. Then I started a video message for Dina, that she might bear indirect witness to my face-plant (making it more potent). And I voiced it. I spoke into my discomfort with no lens, no filter, no justification. Words tumbled out in total vulnerability. I’d unpacked this pain before, after all. Many times. But such is life, so I probed again for the root.
The first layer came through readily. Experiences of discomfort or pain sometimes trigger residual vibrations from childhood wounds having to do with feeling judged, criticized, rejected, or unlovable. For a mammal, this is existentially unbearable. Thus I developed a habit of moving away from pain without even an acknowledgment, to save myself the trouble. This full moon release, like any other, starts with discovering and then allowing my true feelings.
The next layer came through in waves. Another lingering distortion I’ve discovered in myself is the perception of motherhood as a lame-ass job holding me hostage. Certainly, this train of thought runs small and petty compared to the great engine of gratitude and love keeping me on track. But if I am being fully transparent, there are moments when it feels like my kids—their needs—are the boss of me, even though I am supposed to be “in charge.” This creates anything from mild resistance to full-fledged rebellion.
When I’m in resistance, the train of thought picks up power. For my state of being, this literally translates into speed. I scoot from one task to the next as quickly as possible. Done pooping yet? Let’s get those hands washed. Shoes on, time to go! Lily? Rose! Come along, girls! Get in your car seats!
This pace cramps and fragments the way motherhood sits on me, like a hat that squeezes on one side. It’s awfully uncomfortable and I just try to get through it, so as I’m speeding along, I’m simultaneously craving a break, or a shift, from the momentum.
But that’s no way to live. It’s disconnection, pure and simple—and disconnection hurts like hell.
Here then, in plain English, is my sacred offer:
No need for speeding, no bracing for impact.
I release the belief that I have to push hard to move mountains.
I stop running from momentary discomfort by reaching for something else.
I slow down. Drop into my body and root from within.
I am safe, I am home, I am here.
I am present to the love happening now.
As the full moon passes, taking my period with it, I feel much quieter. It certainly seems that some crusty resistance has melted away, bleeding down my leg, into the earth, for healing.
Today, I dropped in and engaged the kids with an open heart, completely present. The love connection was sweet and savory goodness, juiciest known to humanity, nourishing every cell. I allowed myself fullness.
I also found deeper connection with our emerging “homeschool” rhythm. It fully dawned on me that Dina and I are lead teachers when it comes to eating, manners, and self-care patterns—that we are asked to teach what we’re suited to study.
Paradigm shifting is a matter of physics.
In moments of tension during play time, I could feel the kids speeding, grasping, and controlling. I could see how they had adopted cramped coping stratagem. But children this little are regenerative marvels. They demonstrate resilience perfectly, and make quantum leaps as a matter of course—releasing resistance in a heartbeat whenever something more freeing comes along.
It’s beautiful to see the delight in their eyes whenever something more free comes through me. It’s beautiful to sense the positive imprint taking place. Regenerative energy is not theoretical. It’s embodied. We make space for life to thrive by cultivating clear minds. It doesn’t matter what storyline our trauma tells. When our cells sing new songs, everything follows.
And on the Eighth Day, She Rested.
“How about we honor a Sabbath, and take Sundays off?” Dina suggested. Although we both come from traditional religious backgrounds, our current spiritual practice is like a Greatest Hits album. We draw favorite bits from across the board, making a holy hodge-podge. It’s potent stuff. Our days simmer with a mystical synergy that defies definition.
We’re doing the work, spiritually speaking. We also bust our asses physically, mentally, and emotionally. We shepherd a small tribe of toddlers, for crying out loud! Rather than shuttling them off to another institution, where adults actually get paid to care for children, we’re rolling up our sleeves and plunging in. How do we rock the stay-home-mom life in today’s world? How do we hold space for these enormous littles while tending to our own temperamental inner children? How do we keep the kids clean AND the house clean AND our cars clean AND our selves clean when the only thing that happens effortlessly is chaos?
I figure a day of rest makes great sense, since we both seem hell-bent on cleaning all day, every day. We’ve lived here over a month and some might claim we’re still in the house-holding honeymoon phase. However, I can say with total confidence that this place stays exceptionally clean. This is a real pleasure, and something of a dream come true, except where it crosses into self-pressure.
For example, it’s common practice in community homes for residents to assign chores and make charts and check boxes. For me and Dina, it seems an open format of “do what needs doing whenever you can do it,” allows us both to move freely in full expression of our obsessive-compulsive cleaning tendencies. Cleaning gives us that hit of dopamine, that sense of order, that satisfaction of control. The clean house feels calm, when kids are anything but. And since we’re constantly juggling multiple demands, the open format allows us to pick up each other’s dropped balls without keeping score, which is one of our love languages.
But this means that we’re both in cleaning mode, all the time. Even when we’re in the midst of other tasks, we’re prone to pause for a quick cleaning fix. There is always something that needs to be swept, scrubbed, wiped, or put away. The whole day is subject to such interruptions. Not good for inner calm.
So, for the sake of whole-self regard, we set out to do less. One day. Just let the dust bunnies procreate. Just let the sink fill with dishes. Just let the finger streaks on the glass wave back at us for a while. No cleaning.
Should have been easy, but somehow, it bombed.
We had just finished breakfast. After rinsing off the dishes, we slyly left them in the sink. The children went outside to play with dolls and balls. A minute later, sunlight setting her hair aglow, Athena came running back to ask for a blanket for her baby. I tossed her a dish towel. Meanwhile, Lily called out that she needed a doll, too. Dina fished into the baby bin and pulled out a dingy-looking doll. Its misshapen frilly dress had a smudge of avocado on it.
“I need to wipe the baby’s dress off real quick,” said Dina. Which I thought was fine, since we agreed that emergency cleaning wasn’t subject to the Sabbath. After all, what if somebody pees on the floor? She wiped the dress and sent the doll to its juvenile mother. But then: “I’m just going to wash ALL the baby dolls’ clothes.”
“Sometimes when we relapse, we go hard.” I shot Dina a grin. She sort of laughed, and slid the baby bin back into its cubby. Perhaps fifteen minutes later, she caught me cleaning dust from the bottom of the bathroom sink. Sweeping of the kitchen ensued.
Thus, we joked about our addiction as we fell right back into it.
We’ve decided to designate specific time windows for cleaning. For 30 minutes after each meal, we clean. This means dishes, sweeping, wiping, whatever the space seems to need. When the timer rings, we wrap it up. We both have plenty of other things to do, from unpacking boxes to responding to emails. But the most important job right now? SIT DOWN. Breathe. Stretch. Meditate. Pray. Journal. Feel into and occupy our sacred and bountiful bodies.
We both love to dance. This is a chance to find new grooves in the way we move through space and time. This is an opportunity to train a new pace, and therefore peace, of mind.
The official Mama Bear Sanctuary “house-warming” event was sweet, smooth sailing. Every morsel of food eaten, and every belly satisfied. Every common area comfortably full of friends. Kids of varying ages playing in the backyard happily, for hours, without a single injury or melt-down. Three beautiful plants gifted, bringing our total count to four.
The youngest guest in our home today was one month old. I can’t tell who was the eldest. Mature, healthy, empowered women tend to glow in a way that makes it hard to tell their age.
A few house-warmers asked if the gathering was meant only for women and children, due to the lack of men. This was merely incidental. Actually, there were two Papa Bears. One came as a photography sponsor (thank you, Dr. Basha!). The other came holding his baby girl, and beaming.
What are we warming up for anyway, here at The Sanctuary?