A Writing Life

Cedar Ridge Farm is the bow tying five generations of my father’s ancestors together. It has been a gathering place for both sides of my parent’s families. I grew up here, surrounded by much love and hundreds of acres of rolling pasture lands set along the Raritan River at the foothills of the Watchung Mountains.

This place drives my writing–the view of the fields full of cedar and sycamore in the fall, my perennial gardens in spring, the sun rise glinting off the tips of the hay outside my bedroom window on a summer morning. We moved away years ago, but I was able to return with my husband and daughter decades later, the proud owners of a precious heirloom.

In the twenty-three years I have lived back here, my life has undergone transformations I couldn’t begin to imagine when my husband, daughter and I moved from the east side of Manhattan to the pastoral farmland of Far Hills. Through all of the changes, the farm has been the place that grounds me.

Here, I learned acceptance and a willingness to dig deeper into myself when I thought I was too old, too set in my ways and often, too weary to try. I came to terms with who I am and what I can accomplish—in and outside of a family and a marriage—as a wife, a mother, a friend, a daughter, and a writer.

I hope you’ll settle into the farm with me while I write, read, and garden–wander through the house, meet my family and friends, explore the shadowy places out by the barns. Come and walk the Cedar lot with the Westies and me, pick a sun-warmed peach from our orchard on your way there.

 Look from our old bubbled, wavy glass windows, wait for the hiss and clang of the radiators to sing you to sleep at night. Delight in my gardens, breathe in the scent of the apple blossoms from our trees in spring, and the heady perfume of the stargazer lilies in August.Pick some lavender for your pillow in the herb garden by the kitchen door.

I hope you will hear the echoes of your life, your revelations, and your own memories calling out to you.