cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
In honor of the tenth anniversary of Red Tent Living, we are featuring a monthly legacy post written by one of our regular contributors from the past decade. Kelsi Folsom joined the Red Tent writing community as she and her family were living on a small Caribbean Island. Her perspective as a young wife and…
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Standing at my sink mid-day in the soft sun, I tend to the bowls and pans used to make banana bread. The oven heats the sugar, flour, eggs, yogurt, and slivers of banana nestled within its crumb. An aroma like a holiday morning at grandma’s lingers in the air. I choose Christy Nockel’s “Be Held”…
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Tension pressed in around my shoulders as I grabbed a large, silver spoon and plunged it into the thick, creamy mass of pasta and cheddar coming down from a boil on the gas range. Much of my culinary expertise has devolved into mac and cheese. Blame it on three small children, a husband in medical…
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Three years ago, I awoke to the sound of my Dad’s voice at the bedroom door, asking if he could make me anything for breakfast. I registered his inquiry amongst the pasty sweat cementing my postpartum body to the bedsheets. I willed myself to turn on my side, but nothing happened. What is wrong with…
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A little notebook sits on the back, left corner of a small, brown table in the tiny kitchen of my cottage on the Dutch Caribbean Island of Saba. No matter how many times I spray and wipe down the wooden surface, a thin film of “too many chaotic dinners” remains. I reach for this journal,…
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“Working with our life circumstances is how we render reality perfected. Perfection is unattainable. ‘Perfected’ is possible.” — Sarah Ban Breathnach from Simple Abundance The cup of coffee my husband left for me on the nightstand is lukewarm now, reminding me I was supposed to actually get out of bed half an hour ago. I…
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If there is anywhere on earth a lover of God who is always kept safe, I know nothing of it, for it was not shown to me. But this was shown: that in falling and rising again we are always kept in that same precious love. — Julian of Norwich The whole world closes in…
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I usually want to look away, but this time, I can’t. The lights are on and my alibis are nowhere to be found.
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I lean against the steering wheel, pulling my jangling key from the ignition. Pursing my lips, I summon the confident, 23-year-old diva at the height of her vocal training. I smile, catching a glimpse of her in the rearview mirror, and then sigh as I take hold of the reality that it has been a…
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He’s always smiling, an easy grace on his lips. On his shoulders, rest that carries every shame.
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