There's something we lost when everything moved to a screen
The letter on the counter. The handwriting you recognized before you read the name. The feeling that someone, somewhere, sat down and thought of you.
That's what this is. Every month, I write to you about the plants I love, the life I'm living out here in the woods, and the old ways of knowing that don't fit neatly into a feed. It comes in your mailbox. You hold it in your hands. You keep it as long as you like.
"I have been working with herbs my whole life, but it wasn't until I found April that I truly stepped into connection with the land and began to heal. And now there's this sweet, slow way of staying close—real letters in the mailbox, the kind of connection we all kind of miss." - Julia Sanes
How Does All Of This Work?
Twice a month. One letter is a love letter to the herbs — a plant I'm tending, what she offers, why she's stayed with me. The other is more personal, the kind of note you'd get from a friend who sits down to tell you how things really are. Two letters, a couple of weeks apart, all year long.
I send them out about every two weeks — once around mid-month, once near the end. They travel the slow way, by real mail, so give them a few days to find you. Real mail, real connection, the way it used to be.
I do — and shipping's on me wherever you are. US, Canada, Europe, it's all free. I didn't want a bit of distance and some extra postage to leave anyone out.
You can cancel, pause, or skip whenever life asks you to — you'll have your own little portal for it. The only thing out of my hands is a letter already on its way, but everything after is yours to steer, with no guilt about it.