My Sauna Chronicles: The Weave of Food, Seasons & Coming Home

I’ve been thinking a lot about food lately.

Or maybe thinning about food. 😂

Today marks two weeks on this “detox”—eating mostly meat, fresh fruits and vegetables, and brown rice. And in such a short amount of time, I’ve already felt my body showing me just how significant removing certain foods can be while I work on healing my gut.

The skin on my feet is healing. My toenails are healing. And I’m noticing something else, too: energy.

I’ve been intentionally making myself eat more consistently, even when I’m not necessarily hungry, because I’m starting to notice a flow in my energy when I keep myself fueled throughout the day.

And then there it is again.

The subtle battle of my mind.

Or maybe not a battle at all.

Maybe just the things that are finally coming into my awareness.

Because the more I think about food, the more I realize how much energy lives around our fuel source.

Food.

This incredible gift.

Something so deeply woven into our lives that we often forget how miraculous it actually is.

Food carries culture. History. Tradition. Survival. Celebration. Connection.

We have cultivated it, preserved it, traded it, traveled for it, fought for it, shared it, and personalized it within our cultures. And then, somehow, those foods have traveled across the world and become part of someone else’s kitchen.

Sometimes while sitting in the sauna, my mind wanders backward.

I imagine what it would have been like to live before international trade made nearly everything available at our fingertips.

To truly live from the land.

To eat what was growing.

To preserve what could be preserved.

To move through the seasons with whatever abundance—or scarcity—each season offered.

And I wonder about winter.

How mundane it must have sometimes felt.

The repetition.

The preservation.

The endless potatoes and starches.

The foods that could be stored and stretched until spring finally returned.

There must have been such a different relationship with scarcity.

And then I come back to the present moment and feel this incredible wave of gratitude.

Gratitude for all of the people throughout history who risked everything to travel to another country carrying their most precious goods.

Turmeric.

Ginger.

Nutmeg.

Cinnamon.

Spices that now sit casually in our kitchen cabinets—spices that were once completely foreign to this land.

And then I snap back into the here and now.

Into my sauna.

Into this body.

Into this 16-week detox.

And suddenly what seemed like a simple commitment to changing what I eat has become something much bigger.

Because apparently I am going to think about food approximately three times a day, seven days a week. 😂

And that sounds mundane.

But it’s actually becoming a challenge.

A challenge to reconstruct so many of the thoughts and ideologies I inherited about food.

What is a meal?

What belongs on a plate?

What does “healthy” look like?

What does enough look like?

What does nourishment feel like?

I was raised with large portions of starch, a side of vegetables—usually covered in some sort of cheese sauce to convince us to eat them 😂—and then a portion of protein.

Now I look at our meals and see something completely different.

The majority of the plate is protein.

I’m slowly incorporating more vegetables.

Smaller portions of starches and grains.

And I’m learning to listen to my body rather than simply follow the picture of a “proper meal” that was handed down to me.

And as I sit here rereading all of this, I find myself asking:

So what is the point of all of this?

Why am I thinking this deeply about food?

Why is a detox turning into a philosophical exploration of history, culture, scarcity, abundance, and the way I raise my family?

And then I see it.

The weave.

The changing seasons.

The patterns of releasing what no longer serves our highest purpose.

The returning.

The remembering.

The slow process of coming home.

I see so much love and gratitude in the way I’m cultivating my life.

Because I get to be the one who reconnects my family to the earth.

To her rhythms.

To the seasons.

To growing food.

To knowing where things come from.

To understanding that nourishment is more than calories on a plate.

It is relationship.

It is history.

It is connection.

It is gratitude.

And maybe that is what this season of my life is really teaching me.

That healing isn't always about finding the perfect protocol.

Sometimes it is about paying attention.

Sometimes it is about noticing the stories underneath the habits.

Sometimes it is about asking why we do what we do—and deciding whether we want to carry it forward.

And the more I live with intention, the more I notice something else happening.

I am attracting people who are longing for the same thing.

People who want to slow down.

People who want to reconnect.

People who are tired of living so far removed from the rhythms that once grounded us.

People who want to remember the simple things we've somehow forgotten.

And slowly, my community is growing.

I’m finding myself being placed into service in ways I never could have orchestrated myself.

And that leaves me with the deepest sense of gratitude for this strange, beautiful journey my life has taken.

Maybe the point was never just the food.

Maybe it was the remembering.

Remembering how to nourish myself.

Remembering how to nourish my family.

Remembering the seasons.

Remembering the earth.

Remembering that the slow way is still a way.

And perhaps, in a world that is constantly asking us to move faster, consume more, and look outside of ourselves for the next answer…

There is something sacred about simply coming home.

In Peace, Love and Service,
Rebecca