10/31/2025
I spent the past week up north, surrounded by the colors of autumn. The air was crisp, the pace was slow, and it felt grounding to be with my family, a time of reflection and gratitude for where I come from.
I grew up watching my family spin honey, harvest apples, and tend the land with such care. They taught me the rhythms of the seasons through planting, canning, and preserving what the earth provided. My mom kept the tradition of fermentation alive with sourdough, kombucha, and kefir, while my dad, through hunting and fishing, taught lessons in respect, patience, and the balance of giving and receiving.
It wasn’t until later through studying medicine that I began to understand what I had been witnessing all along. I started to see the parallels in the body’s healing, understanding that every process moves at its own divine pace and that everything meaningful unfolds in its own rhythm. Being back on the farm reminds me how deeply those early lessons shaped the way I practice today.
The principles are the same: presence, patience, and trust in the natural process.
This way of life was teaching me medicine long before I ever studied it. And for that, I carry a quiet gratitude to my parents and grandparents, whose hands and hearts taught me what no textbook ever could.
