As I purposfully seek to return to the gentle rhythms of home, I find myself drawn back to the age-old rituals that tether us quietly to place, season, and purpose.
There’s a particular kind of peace in the doing—kneading dough, preserving fruit, watching something transform through the work of your hands.
The Joy of Strawberry Jam
This past week, the supermarkets have been overflowing with strawberries. While going to a pick-your-own farm is a lovely activity to do, it is not always practical to fit in around the other tasks and commitments of everyday life.
So I am taking advantage of the bumper berry crop that is coming through our supermarkets at the moment and popped a large tray of strawberries into my shop this week, earmarked to be transformed into some delicious homemade jam.
I used a simple recipe—just fruit, sugar, and a touch of lemon juice—and found the process calming, contemplative even. There’s a kind of ministry in the making of jam: the careful stirring, the watching and waiting, the little ceremony of pouring it into warm jars.
It felt like a declaration that the slower, domestic arts still have a place in a world that rushes on. A quiet protest, perhaps, or maybe just a sweet way of coming home to oneself.
The Sourdough Saga (So Far)
Now, not all my domestic adventures have gone quite so smoothly. I’ve been attempting to grow a sourdough starter. Let’s just say... it's been more of a lesson in humility than success thus far.
Despite following trusted instructions, keeping it warm, feeding it regularly, and peering at it far too often, the starter remains stubbornly uninspired.
Still, I’m not giving up. There’s something beautiful about the process of trying, failing, and trying again. Perhaps the Lord teaches us perseverance in such things—the quiet resolve to keep at the good work, even when the fruit is slow in coming.
Learning New (Old) Skills
One of the things I love most about homemaking is that there is always something new to learn. Whether it’s preserving, baking, mending, or growing—there’s a lifelong education to be found within these walls. In embracing traditional skills, we’re not just reviving lost arts; we’re anchoring ourselves and our families to rhythms that nourish body and soul.
.png)
A Freezer Full of Cinnamon Buns
Another small victory this week was in the form of cinnamon buns. I’ve been experimenting with making a batch, allowing them to prove, and then freezing them in their ready-to-bake state.
The idea is to be able to take them out and bake from frozen—fresh buns, no fuss. I confess, this is not my own brilliant idea! Rather, it comes after a visit to a beautiful farm shop in North Wales.
Along with their lovely ready-meal selection, they had tubs of loose ready-to-bake frozen pastries. Seeing that inspired me to build up my own stash of ready-to-bake pastries.
It works wonderfully. On slower mornings or when guests are visiting, I can simply pop a tray into the oven, and the scent of cinnamon and dough fills the house as though I’ve been baking for hours. It feels like a gift to my future self. I highly recommend giving it a try if you're looking to bring a little more ease into your baking routine.
There’s a loveliness in these quiet returns—to homemade things, to hopeful beginnings, to imperfect attempts that still bring joy. Whether it’s jam bubbling on the stove or dough rising by the window, each task is an invitation to re-root ourselves in the steady beauty of home.
So if, like me, you’re sensing the pull to re-engage with the gentle arts of the home, follow it. Make the jam. Bake the bread (or at least try). Honour the ordinary and sacred alike. There’s no rush—just rhythm.
With warmth and jam-scented blessings,
Shirley x
