We rang in the New Year in Stuyvesant last night, in a church renovated and inhabited by our friends Rebecca and Christopher. Surrounded by friends, at a long overcrowded table fed by a groaning board overflowing with Rebecca’s beautiful kitchen creations. And at midnight, as we have for the last 3 years of this tradition, we trooped up a narrow stairway to the bell tower and let the bell ring out over our small town, everyone in celebration of the year ahead and hopeful for good things to come.
Today, the sun shines bright on the snowy, icy landscape outside the door of The Staats House, a house which has at this count seen 372 New Years days come and go, its resilience in the face of the winds and weather that come up the River, a testament to its permanence in the face of the transience of its inhabitants both present and past.
The years have come and gone as life has unfolded for us here. The history of our house and the tidal comings and goings of the estuary outside our door dwarf our very existence, and while we try and exert vision and control, the truth is David and I are only the latest caretakers in a long line of families that found life and a sense of purpose here.
New Years Day is a time for new beginnings. A time for resolutions of change. A hope for better times ahead. I have been in a liminal state these past days, as the clock turns on last year and the new one begins. I’ve been taking stock of last year, the beauty and community created here, the gifts of the harvest season and the many friends who make our life here so vibrant and fun.
I don’t have a resolution this year other than to keep going. To live physically in the world, to feel the strength that comes from that and the joy that comes from living a full life in the presence of my own God, who is nature. To give what I can to those who need it, to be a great friend, partner and mother. This is what life has given me. And I intend to grab it in 2026.
A good friend asked me last night if I was going to continue farming this year. I waffled, unsure how to answer the question, the answer so obvious on the one hand, and so conflicting on the other. This is, perhaps, a reasonable question and it is also one that I have been asking myself these past days, anticipating the year ahead and the associated costs of a new business.
The farm and the community it has created for us is perhaps the greatest gift of my life. Something magical is happening here. It’s the magic of bringing talented people together and giving them space within a vision of creating beauty and community. And its the magic of the learning that comes from growing on our small piece of land Upstate. The understanding of the alchemy of soil and seed and science.
Last night I sat with my wonderful friends, women whose passions and creativity fuel beauty in the world. We are all of a certain age, and we could all certainly at this point in our lives be retired, satisfied with a daily routine that requires nothing of us. Instead, we are fostering environmental resilience, craftsmanship, beauty and community. Not one of us considering that perhaps we are aged out. Rather, we are committed to living this next phase of our lives with the vibrant energy that defines who we are.
On this sunny first morning of 2026, I foresee great things for the year ahead and I’m hopeful that we can all make the world a better place, for all people, everywhere. And, this is the path I choose for this year: To be present, to love deeply, to work hard and to move my body well into the last day of this year when the bell once again tolls in Stuyvesant and we turn the clock on 2027.
