Embracing the Rhythms of Rural Life.

Living rurally in a place like Masterton has its own unique rhythm—a way of life dictated by the seasons, the land, and the subtle sounds that surround us. Today, as I sit outside in the early morning, I’m soaking up the spring sunshine and listening to the wind ripple through the trees. The clouds drift lazily by, almost in no rush—much like the pace of life out here. After a rain-soaked season, everything is green and lush, almost too much so! The grass has grown wild, more than we need, and though our alpacas love to munch on the sweet, tender bits, they leave the long stuff behind, so we’re topping the grass already. Soon, though, it’ll dry off, and we’ll be supplement feeding them through the summer. It’s a reminder to enjoy these green days while they last.

Living here brings with it a mix of responsibility and reward. There’s always something to be done. We work with the seasons; each brings its own tasks. This time of year, we’re gearing up to shear the alpacas, preparing bags to store their fleece and making sure they’ll be calm and cooperative for shearing day. I’ve been experimenting with their fleece—figuring out how to wash it gently so I can use it in pet beds or my Waldorf dolls without accidentally felting it.

Of course, there are trade-offs to rural life. We don’t have a dairy on the corner for quick groceries. We only go into town once or twice a week, so you get into the habit of planning and having what you need. For my crafts, I rely a lot on online shopping since specialty supplies aren’t readily available in a small town like Masterton. It teaches you patience, a willingness to wait, and to make do or find creative solutions.

Our lifestyle block means we try to be as self-sufficient as possible. We collect rainwater from the roof of my studio, which usually keeps us from having to buy water. Our soil is quite dry and doesn’t retain moisture well, so even for the vegetable garden, we get creative, reusing water from the washing machine to keep things growing.

Life here is quiet and connected to nature. We don’t have traffic or sirens. Instead, we hear birds and, at night, the call of the moorpork. People greet each other, not in a hurry, and it feels like there’s time to breathe, to take things as they come. While the work can be constant and sometimes challenging, this slower pace feels like a privilege.

In a world that often seems to speed by, living rurally in Masterton lets me find a bit of peace and simplicity. For anyone who can experience this kind of life, I would say it’s well worth it. I feel lucky to call it home.