Wild Mother

03/23/2026

Hope you had a fantastic day so far babes 🩷

03/23/2026

03/23/2026

I was born in Smith Falls, at the Smith Falls Hospital.
A C section baby. My mom was 35 when she had me. The same age I was when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, River.

Funny how life does that, how it quietly mirrors things before you even realize it. When I was three, my mom remarried a man from Newfoundland, and we moved north, to a tiny place called Red Rock, near Nipigon and Thunder Bay.

One road in. One road out.

He worked as a millwright at the paper mill, and just like that, our whole life changed. I don’t remember very much but what I do remember, I feel.

I remember living in a trailer, watching my mom stand on a chair with a broom, trying to kill a mouse. I remember moving to a duplex near the reserve, and how the air outside always smelled like rotten eggs from the mill. I remember running barefoot down by the lake. I remember my stepdad hunting rabbits, standing in the headlights of his little S10 while he skinned one. That one I will never forget. I remember bringing partridge feet to school for show and tell, like it was completely normal.

It was a different kind of life. Remote. Wild. A little rough around the edges. And maybe., maybe those years were where it all began.

Because when I look at my life now, my love of nature, the way I’ve been drawn to the land, to growing things, to living a little closer to the wild, I can’t help but think a piece of that was planted there.

And then she brought us back. Back to Smith Falls. Back to my dad.
Back to my sisters. Back to something that felt like home. I was 9.

For a long time, I didn’t fully understand that chapter. But I do now.
Because now I’m the mom. And I know what it feels like to make hard decisions to choose what you believe is best, even when it comes with loss, change, and uncertainty. To carry the weight of knowing your choices will shape your children’s memories.

I look back at her now, and I see a woman doing the best she could with what she had. And in so many ways, I’ve walked my own version of that path. I built a life out on land. Quiet. Rural. Intentional. A life that, in its own way, echoed pieces of what I experienced as a child.

And now here I am again, stepping into something new, something different. Not because I failed. But because I’m choosing what I believe is right for my kids. For me.

You spend years becoming your own person, and then one day you realize you understand your mother in a way you never could before.

Not just her choices, but her courage. Those years up north were short, but they left their mark on me. In more ways than I probably even realize.

And I carry that with me now.

Love, Kelly Mae

Wild Mother

03/22/2026

Gut glow smoothie 🥭

1 banana
1 c frozen mango
1 c almond milk
1 tbs chia seeds
1 tbs flaxseed
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1:2 tsp vanilla

And boom 💥

Enjoy!

Wild Mother

03/22/2026

I like to romanticize life.

This very normal, very real, a little messy, a little magical life we’re living right now.

After so many years out on the farm, we’ve landed in this little blue house in town, close enough to hear the river if you walk a little ways. And honestly, I feel it , this is where we’re meant to be right now.

There’s a different kind of excitement here. Being close to things. Walking distance to the river. A new rhythm setting in.

I bought a 1970s Raleigh bike , the kind that makes you want to slow down a little. Soon we’ll be packing up our little wicker picnic basket with snacks and a blanket, driving until we find a patch of grass that feels right, and just, sitting, eating, talking. Letting time stretch a bit.

I’m even excited to try things differently this year , like vertical growing in a smaller space, making something beautiful out of what we have.

And this season, I’ll be returning to the farmer’s market on Saturdays with the products I make by hand from plants. There’s something so romantic about that, too.

When I was younger, I used to dream about being part of a farmer’s market, maybe riding my vintage bicycle there, setting up something of my own, being part of that slow, intentional kind of life. And the thing is , I’m already living it. I have been. And I get to do it again this year.

That quiet kind of dream that doesn’t always look big from the outside, but feels like everything on the inside. And maybe the most romantic part of all of this is small town life itself.

The familiar faces. The conversations that stretch longer than you planned. Walking into a local store and knowing more people than you don’t.

Going into Giant Tiger and somehow ending up with three or four hugs before you even make it back out the door. The morning coffee in a tiny kitchen. The evening walks to the river. The sound of tires on pavement instead of gravel. The way the light hits this little house just right at golden hour.

So here’s to romanticizing the ordinary. To finding beauty in the in between. To building a soft, meaningful life right where we are. In the little blue house a block from the River. One small, intentional moment at a time.

Love, Kelly Mae 🌺

03/21/2026

They made a song 🎵 about my truck lol

03/21/2026

Saturday morning thoughts from a small town gal living in Prescott. And yes my touque stays on till it’s above zero lol.

I’ve been thinking about how there is a certain kind of woman who keeps finding her way to this page. Not because her life fell apart overnight, but because one day she woke up in a life that didn’t seem hers anymore. Maybe she is gaining the courage to rebuild.

She’s the woman whose husband left or betrayed her.
The woman who’s loved deeply and lost and now keeps encountering men who feel emotionally unavailable. The ones that have a whole roster hidden in their cell phones. Women too, but I can only speak from my female pov. It’s a world of instant gratification, and onto the next.

Maybe you are the woman who has done the therapy, read the books, had the breakthroughs, and still somehow ends up with someone who can’t show up fully.

And I can only speak from where I come from, a small town. The kind of place where from the outside, it looks like everyone has it all together.

Long marriages. Nice homes. Families that seem solid and steady. And you grow up thinking, that’s what love is supposed to look like. You don’t always see what’s happening behind closed doors. You don’t always see the silence, the distance, the settling.

So when you start to feel that same distance in your own relationships, you question yourself before you question the dynamic. You think you must have something deeply wrong with you, you internalize it.
You tell yourself it’s normal. You tell yourself to be grateful. You learn to accept breadcrumbs and call it love. Because something is better than nothing

And even when you’ve done the work, even when you know better, you can still find yourself drawn to what feels familiar. That push and pull. That almost but not quite feeling.

Not because you’re broken, but because your nervous system learned that this is what love feels like.

So what does healing actually look like from here?

It looks like pausing when something feels intense too quickly. It looks like noticing who feels calm, not just who feels exciting. It looks like choosing consistency over confusion, even when it doesn’t give you that same emotional high.

It looks like unlearning the idea that love is something you have to earn or hold onto tightly. Because real love doesn’t come in breadcrumbs.

And the hardest, most beautiful shift you’ll ever make
is no longer feeling hungry for the things that once kept you starving.

If you’re here, reading this, you’re not behind.

You’re just waking up to a different way.

Love Kelly Mae 🌺

Wild Mother