Wicked Rural Homestead
Live Simply
Snow Person Challenge…
This last storm gave us the perfect type of snow to build snow people but we may have gotten a little carried away.
It stands about ten feet tall!
Now its your turn!
Time May Heal All Wounds- But It Makes Homesickness Worse
My little town has always been the core of who I am.
Even now as I sit thousands of miles away-it feels close enough for me to touch. It still stings my heart that I am too far away to do so.
Boulder Creek still looks the way that most towns in the West used to. Something I never appreciated till I moved East. It is still stuck in a time when California was a wild place as far from civilization as could be reached by land. The “edge of the continent” as my Dad always said.
Where brave people dared to move away from all the safety and civility that came before. Hoping for something better. Or at the very least an exciting adventure to tell back in the city, if they returned to it.
Mostly I think it was the spirit of self-reliance that inspired people to come here. People who wanted to answer to no one but themselves and live the way they wanted.
Plus the lack of wicked cold winters probably helped.
Boulder Creek is a quintessential frontier town, one main street lined with stores and shops.
These small businesses may not have everything you want but they will provide you with everything you could need. The whole of downtown contains not a single traffic light of any kind and only one main intersection.
There are no chain stores here, not one. Everything is owned and run by the people who live here and it shows.
I have always said that Boulder is made of equal parts hippy and hick. At the end of town is Jonnie’s market, a huge florescent arrow points down at the front door from its roof and flashes “Liquors” in bright blue green lights.
While right across the street stands New Leaf Market a hippy whole foods store. Both have enough business to prosper. In fact both are necessary for the needs of the town folk.
The economy is a local one. We are the gateway to Big Basin State park but tourism is not something necessarily encouraged by the locals and certainly not to be depended on for anything as important as earning a living.
The old buildings remain largely untouched by ‘progress’ unable to expand from their original foundations by the forest, river and mountains that made their initial existence possible.
The fronts of many buildings still carry their original signage. ‘The Brandy Station’ is written in yellow letters above the building that was the town bakery in my youth and is now a Chinese takeout restaurant.
“Mac’s 100 Year Old Place” adorns the wooden awning of the building where I had my first job. Then a restaurant now an antiques shop.
Murals of town at the turn of the last century are painted on a number of outer building walls and they look almost the same as the current vista only the fashions worn by the town folk have changed.
This was and still is a logging town, founded on the harvesting of the forest that guarded us from the outside world and made our little haven possible.
My parents chose to raise children here deliberately, they always called it “god’s country.” Still wild and composed of more nature than human construction.
The mountains were not the safest place to raise children and that was not the reason my parents chose to live in Boulder Creek.
It could be argued that- being forty minutes from the nearest hospital, only one sheriff for twenty miles, abundant earthquakes, regular and extended power outages and having poorly funded school system made it a horrible place to raise children.
This widely accepted sentiment that living close to everything (in case of accidents) and relying on school budgets to determine how educated your kids will become was not one my hippy parents believed in.
There may be safety and security in numbers but there is little in the way of self-reliance and the quite calm necessary to gain true self knowledge. My parents wanted to live where it was beautiful and quite. Where everyone has enough space.
They felt the best gift they could give their children was belonging in a place where you could see god everyday-in the face of a wave or meet him alone on a mountain top. They gave my sister and I the gift of solitude and then had the courage to let us go explore it.
Survival Sundays
I think it is safe to say that most male persons have a secret (or as in the case of my cousin, not so secret) crush on Bear Grylls. I mean the guys gets to run around the world, climbing trees, starting fires and drinking/wearing his own pee- all so he can tell you how to survive in the wilderness.
What. A. Man.
The men folk in this house are not immune to his charms. Countless hours have been spent in front of the TV watching as he lives out his (their) dreams of running, jumping climbing trees- all over the world.
I grew up in 25 B.B.G. (Before Bear Grylls) but the lack of a syndicated TV show didn’t stop my family from spending thousands of hours outside poking around, making shelters, foraging/hunting for food, cooking over open flames, flaking arrow heads and immersing ourselves in raw nature.
From a young age, I was allowed to play with fire but I was only allowed a flint starter and the rules of fire safety were extensive and absolute. I was tutored ENDLESSLY on every possible aspect of fire building. From the science behind fire- to how to prepare your pots and pans to cook over open flame so they don’t get all sooty (rub dish soap on the outside before you start and the carbon buildup will wash right off.)
My dad even wrote and published a book on the subject. It sold on Amazon for a time before his death.
TBT: I’m A Fool
And that’s ok with me.
In our modern age, “being a fool” carries a decidedly negative connotation. We place high value on planning, goals, specific culturally defined aspirations and conformity to the norms.
In tarot, The Fool is the first card of the major arcana and represents the antithesis of modern structure and goals. He is blithe and impulsive. Deifying logical explination and purposefully going against the grain. Most of the time these actions are meant to remind us that our advanced systems and societal constructions are at times absolutely absurd or completely wrong.
In ‘the olden days’ the fool or jester was one who could make fun of even the most powerful person in the land. To bluntly state the contradictions, imperfections and dysfunctions of the king in such a way that even the high ruler could laugh at himself. Walking that line was a true gift. Court jesters that performed these tasks poorly, usually lost their heads.
This task could not be done without intelligence and the ability to state the simplest of facts; that we do not know everything. We never have.
The traditional tarot image of The Fool shows a jester on the verge of stepping off a cliff. With a dancing dog at his feet and his head raised to the sky he is completely unaware that his next step may mean disaster and death.
The Fool does not care. He is quite happy in his precarious state. Enjoying the moment and not worrying about what is next.
Coolest. Person. Ever.
My sister is the most incredible, amazing, inspirational, kick-ass person you will ever meet.
Yes, I am bias but I assure you- the statement is true none the less. Allow me to justify my position.
I have written about the ‘Little One’ a few times before. She has made a life for herself outside of our family unit that is awe inspiring.
She is someone to be looked up too. Though it would take her getting on a stool for me to do so 🙂
We shared a unique childhood but she has distinguished herself from me and surpassed my wildest dreams in every way possible. She is not motivated by a need to prove herself to me or anyone else. I do not cast a shadow large enough to encompass her’s, nor would I want to.
We are separate from each other, singular and different. Just like the roots of a dandelion and its feathery seeds are a part of the same life yet wholly opposite in their experience of existence. One rooting deep into the dark, moist soil and the other set free to wander on the breeze and see all of creation below. A universe encased in a winged seed.
Her drive and motivation have taken her all around the world.
I’m am not being obtuse or exaggerating. She is currently on her third trip to Asia. Notice I do not say “vacation,” and am not any more specific than “Asia.” This is because my sister’s preferred method of travel involves oneway plane tickets, indeterminate amounts of time/countries and little to no itinerary to speak of.
In her travels she has been to: Thailand, Cambodia, Lao, China, Tibet, Mongolia, Vietnam, Singapore, Taiwan not to mention all over Europe and the USA. Many of these places she has been more than once. I am quite sure I am missing some and I’m not counting layovers.
Stop saying you have OCD. You are just anal, I have OCD.
Growing up on a fault line meant that I have been through more than my fair share of earthquakes. This includes Loma Preita in 1989 the 6.9-7.1 magnitude quake that collapsed the bay bridge, and our fireplace. I was six at the time.
Bricks are no match for that kind of cute.The randomness of earthquakes was one thing. But it brought with it the concept of random destruction and mortality. When I saw the pictures of the bay bridge and collapsed buildings on the news I asked if everyone was ok. My mom replied that they were not, that many people had died in the quake.
Being young, I had never thought much about death and injury. Now, I had experienced a violent event that killed many people. This revelation when reasoned to its logical end meant that if you were hurt bad enough to die- you did not come back. Not even for Christmas.
I have always been high strung and anxious, even as a baby. My mom could not leave me anywhere even for a second without a HUGE fit. After the quake I became preoccupied with mortality and the concept that everyone and everything around me would one day die.
This was a fact.
One of those things you find as a child that you can not prove false and must accept for the rest of your life. An absolute truth about the world.
Petroglyphs and Pyramids and Aliens?! Oh My!
Last winter we got really into Antiques Roadshow. We have been doing better this winter at not driving ourselves crazy with marathons of random Netflix shows, until now.
After four hours of the show Ancient Aliens; I lost it and started yelling at the idiot box. Forgetting Mark Twain’s sage advice to “Never argue with stupid people, they will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience.” I guess since it is not technically a person the adage does not apply OR it is worse to by virtue of the fact it is an inanimate object.
Who can keep track of these things?
For those of you who have never experienced the amazing deductive reasoning involved in this show, basically it explores the hypothesis that pretty much every ancient monument, civilization and oddly semetrical stone object was made with the guidance of extraterrestrials.
On a very basic level, the premise is rather insulting to our predecessors. To think that given the lack of electricity and internal combustion they would have been unable to move/manipulate stone unless they had the help of flying saucers. It is completely possible to move heavy objects as long as you are can be smarter than a large rock.
If you don’t believe me check out this site. This retired carpenter demonstrates how ONE MAN can move tons of stone all over the place- using nothing more than simple levers and small stones placed underneath the object to act as a fulcrum.
TBT: My Surrender to a Lack of Expectations
“The more things change…”
This journey is far from over and the things I have learned are immeasurable and priceless. Every once in a while I am privileged to have some positive reinforcement that my thoughts and I are on the right path.
Surrender is not something to submit to or to accept and then bemoan the lack of control it brings. Instead it is the honest and true acceptance that life will take you were you are meant to be. Not that there is some grand design or puppeteer behind it all, only that like a chemical reaction your actions-mixed with your environment and the presence of others have a definate interaction with the outcome that you do not control. Like this interaction of a broken hydrant and a storm.
TBW: Wisdom From The Lakota.
My sister and I were raised by a pack of rabid surfers and hippies. When we were very young our Godfather, Todd discovered the world of Ishi-The Last Yahi.
Todd was already one of the most accomplished outdoorsman you will every meet. For instance; look what he can get with a snorkel and sling spear- breakfast, lunch AND dinner.
The new focus on native practices brought many amazing new skills and missions to the weekly itinerary. Todd taught himself to flake arrowheads, scrapers and blades. We would search and collect the correct materials to carve bows and fletch arrows the way it has been done for thousands of years. The rest of us leanrned too and reaped the benefits of this ancient knowledge.
We were raised with the strict belief that nature was the source of all things. We were ingrained with simple mandate to observe, learn and follow the natural way whenever possible.
This focus on outside living and respect for the bounty of the Earth has been the most important tenant in my life and I am lucky to have found a partner who shares these views.
A little while ago I came across these excerpts taken from the writing of the Lakota Chiefs that have been circulating around the net. I felt a instant connection to the sentiments. There is a lot about our modern societal tendencies and ‘manners’ that bother the hell out of me and I thought that these rules pinpointed my issues completely:
Fort McClary
Kittery, Maine.
We wandered, caressing the ruins.
Touching stone hewn before our grandparents were born.
Random Acts Of Kindness And Chinese Food
More than a decade ago, I was walking to my car in downtown Santa Cruz. Coming toward me from across the parking garage was a man, he was crying. His hair was matted to his head and his cloths hung off him awkwardly.
He was speaking Spanish asking for “help.” It was one of the saddest things I have ever seen. He was sobbing openly and stumbling toward the front of the garage. I stopped and walked to him. He rambled at me in Spanish “help me, the police just woke me up from down by the river. They said I needed to go away, I am so hungry and I don’t know where to go.”
I hugged him, told him “no llores” (don’t cry) I checked my wallet for some cash but of course had none. “Let’s go get some food.” He looked at me, shock now replacing the sorrow. I’m not sure if he was more surprised I could understand Spanish and speak to him or that I was willing to help.
It was quite obvious that this half drunk, half asleep man had not really expected anyone to listen to him. We walked together back toward downtown.
TBT-Ode to my sister or an elaborate excuse to tell a funny puke story. You decide.
The Little One
One of my earliest memory from childhood is of playing on the floor by an old wooden lamp stand we had in the living room. My parents came into the room and towered over me, backlit by the bank of windows on the far wall.
“Honey,” they said. I looked up from my mission of reaching the stand’s summit so that I could gain access to what I had become convinced was a magical lamp.
“We have something very important to tell you. You are going to have a little brother or sister soon!”
I don’t remember any confusion about the meaning of that statement. All I can remember is thinking quite clearly, “well it’s about time you got here!” I can’t recall feeling worried that she was going to take anything away from me- not attention or toys. I do remember an overwhelming feeling of completion.
Within hours of her birth I was there ready to begin my watch on ‘the little one.’ Some people are lucky enough to meet others in their lives with which they share an immediate deep connection.
Kurt Vonnegut called this group of people a ‘karass’- a group that is brought together during the course of their lives because together they are meant to perform some task in the name of god. When it is a romantic connection, we call it soul mate. I have been fortunate enough to meet many such people throughout out my life and I am beyond blessed that one of them is my little sister.
Sara was and always will be my first true love- the person who I felt an instant and absolute obligation to love, protect and nurture. She was MY little sister and since the day she was born I have always considered her my responsibility.
I AM my sister’s keeper.
I do not mean this to imply that I have not alway felt an unconditional love and bond with my parents. I felt that it was their duty to love and take care of both of us and it was my part in that family system to watch over Sara. My mother has always been extremely attentive and competent in our care; there were years of my life when my dad would work so much that we rarely saw him. He often had to travel far away for press checks as this was what had to be done to support the family and pay the bills.
Just as it was my dad’s responsibility to earn the money, it was my mom’s to take care of the home, the kids and animals. To me it seemed that my place in this effort was to keep track of my sister.
I have always thought us fortunate to have been created three years apart- any older and I may have been more indifferent, any younger and I may have been prone to jealously. Three years allowed us the ability to both learn and teach one another. She was not so young that she was unable to do the things I could. I was not old enough yet have learned all the tricks of one skill or another.
I always felt she was completely capable of doing anything I could- a theory I would often make sure was correct by teaching her how to do whatever it was. I have always thought of her as the ‘Gobets 3000,’ a newer and more improved version of me and my abilities.
In fact, in my opinion, she has surpassed me in every way at pretty much everything. I have never been jealous of her achievements and abilities though I distinctly remember a period of time when I resented her for being so cute.
She also went through a slimy phase when she always seemed to be oozing something from somewhere and wanted nothing more than to wipe it all over me with hugs and kisses.
My Hands
Have never known a manicure or file.
And they are bitten rather than clipped.
They have been painted less times than there are fingers to paint.
In many places they are more scar than skin.
The fingers on the right appear to have been badly broken long ago, though they never were.
They often spend their days covered in food, blood or dirt.
Lovingly touching things that make others cringe.
They are not spectacular for how they look but for what they do.
They have created meals that nourish and astound, providing me an income for my modest household.
They have made many things of beauty that fill my house and life.
They have healed and comforted the beings I love.
They are strong and can hold fast when I need them to.
I hope they have given more than they have taken from this world.
Because through helping others they have made me whole.
They have become more than the sum of their parts and I believe that they are truly beautiful.
Mostly I am just grateful to have such tremendous alleys at the tips of my fingers.
Today I am beyond thankful for the simple gift of my hands.
On The Road Again
Since my dad passed two years ago a great many things have changed. Most of these differences have nothing to do with my dad or his death. In some ways that makes his absence that much more surreal. In the uncharted country of time yet to come, my lack of a father rarely seems to have any measurable impact on the world around me.
Inside my head it is a different story.
When I was really young and (thanks to my OCD) I was unavoidably preoccupied with the possibility of my father’s death. He was always working, commuting over the hill to San Jose and then San Francisco for almost three decades. On top of the daily grind he often went on ‘press checks’ and as a child it seemed to me that if he was not in a car, he was on a plane.
Always out of my sight and beyond my control.
I would have episodes where I just couldn’t stand the thought of him up in the air in something so flimsy as an airplane. He was, of course, totally at ease with the traveling process and had a hard time understanding my anxiety. He would patiently explain to me that air travel was nothing to worry about, statistically you are more likely to die in a car accident on the way to the airport than in a crash.
This did absolutely nothing to ease my fears. In fact, it made me burst out in tears. He drove everyday! (Those who have driven with him know that much of the time these drives were preformed at warp speed.) I became totally convinced that before I hit double digits, my dad would die in a fiery car/plane crash.
How Can I Tell?
Am I beautiful?
How can I tell?
I could look for the answer in the mirror to see what I need to cover up.
I could give myself a number either off a scale or tag.
I could look at the beautiful people that surround; compare and see what I should change.
I could starve myself so that I take up less space.
Then I will be beautiful.
Fuck that!
I am the beholder and I choose the measure.
I know I am beautiful.
I see it when I look in my husband’s eyes, I should make him my mirror.
I know when I count the beings comforted by my care and company, I should make this my number.
I can look to my kids and see that they don’t care I’m not like the women on TV, I should make them my source of entertainment.
I will not take up less space.
Instead I will try to fill all that surrounds with more love and kindness.
When I remember all of these things I AM beautiful to the only person that really needs to believe it’s true,
myself.
Amen
🙂
The Choice I Never Had to Make
I wrote this post some time ago now, and I did more than hesitate to post it. In fact, I almost didn’t at all.
This is because my reproductive health is no one’s business!
After a time I was compelled to speak out on behalf of an organization that had given me the greatest gift in the world, control of my body.
For those people who have never been to Planned Parenthood allow me to share my experiences, I hope they can be received with open ears. I think I am qualified to write on this topic because I have been a patient with them my whole adult life.
No, this does not mean that I have had STDs or abortions; it MEANS that (because of the services I has access to) I avoided both of these sophomoric pitfalls. Nor does it mean that I have been a healthcare freeloader. I have always been employed and thus; declared my income, then paid for my services (on the sliding scale the PP provides) or gone through my insurance.
When I made the decision to be sexually active I felt it of the utmost importance that I take responsibility for that choice, alone. In fact, I reasoned that if I was incapable of taking on that obligation I was in no way ready for such a life altering decision.
Planned Parenthood gave me that resource.
But this story of woman’s health and reproductive services didn’t start with a teenage girl in the 90’s. The road has been long and it reaches back to ancient times.
If we go back before christianity to the pagan era, both male and female part in reproduction were equally respected. The feminine form was exulted for its powerful life-giving abilities. Women had choices, those choices were private and respected. There were wise people, midwives, shamans and priestesses who provided women’s services to the population. From basic feminine needs and medical care, pregnancy, contraception and yes, even abortion.
The advent of christianity rendered wise woman, witches and the old ways, devil’s work. A women was either a virgin, a mother or a whore. The concept of the of the sacred feminine was taken from us and we were left with the archetype of the virgin mother with no healthcare to help us in this unachievable goal. Our resources and knowledge were declared heresy and the punishment for non-conformity was often violence or death.
Centuries passed and still women didn’t regain our basic human rights. A woman, and all the abilities contained within her body and mind were the possession of others. First; her family where (when she she came of breeding age) was sold like chattel. She was then the property of her husband and after that- her male children.
I hope we are at a place in this discourse where we can acknowledge that women have been second class citizens for most of the modern age. We are not bought and sold anymore but we have yet to achieve true equality. There are other groups in America that also suffer from the inequalities of a predominately white patriarchical system. These are the populations who utilize the services Planned Parenthood provides.
Planned Parenthood is not just a womans resource they serve all of those members of our community that would otherwise go without medical treatment of any kind. It is true that I saw many immigrant workers and their families in those endless waiting room hours. Many times; I had shared the room with older, painfully red eyed men but I never realized why they were there. Amongst all the bilingual posters and notices on the walls, there was one that was only posted in Spanish. It was a small 8.5 x11 print out with big implications. It said:
Woolly Stalkers Precede Woolly Stockings.
For a few days last week, the changing trees made us feel like we were living in a lemon.
Most of the maples on our property don’t go crimson. Instead they yellow and then rust.
It makes the lighting at dawn and sunset pretty epic.
This week the yellow has deepened to orange. More and more leaves give up the transformation and fall to the ground.
Each day we are one day closer to having a forest full of nude trees. The shady parts of the property get the first sun they have felt in months and the sheep have a buffet of fallen leaves for breakfast.
Halloween in Boulder Creek – 2015
My home town does Halloween right!!! Wish I could have been there.
Autumn Eggs
For anyone that has never experienced fall foliage in New England, do it.
The view is one of a kind and the only time during the year I don’t miss my forest back home. Everyday, around every corner is a new combination of color and light, it is impossible to capture.
Not that I haven’t tried. Pictures and words all fall short when attempting to contain the beauty of autumn leaves. In honor of such an awesome show, I decided to do some fall Pysanky eggs.
I did most of them at the beginning of the turn when each trees is a rainbow of color as they change from green to red or yellow.
Standing isn’t as simple as you might think
A good reminder to myself to be still, breath then move.
Our Forest Pharmacy
Today, I grabbed my basket and headed up the hill in search of some medicinal plants. The trees are turning and I felt it time to do some gathering before the leaves and inevitably, snow cover the forest floor for the coming months.
The woods surrounding the house have been my refuge recently. The summer brings with it all sorts of daily surprises. I don’t want to miss any of them.
Snow White Learns Witchcraft
Excellent!
Source: Snow White Learns Witchcraft
“Lost” Is a State Of Mind, Not Location.
Due to a last-minute change in plans, I found myself the proud owner of a day off, to myself. I decided to take advantage of my proximity to the White Mountains and drive north.
Back home, I spent days on end meandering the back roads of the California coast. I love to wander without goal or destination. In the same spirit I set off, with nowhere to go.
A Day Of Rest
Fall is here! Mornings on the homestead now necessitate a hat and sweatshirt. The first tree in the yard has turned.
Most fall days are spent preparing for the coming cold but since Sunday is a day of rest; I will. It is good to reflect on what we have done and all there is still left to do.
The wood piling has begun again.
These stacks have allowed Frederick the chance to taunt Isis and gain the high ground, simultaneously.
Still Sick.
It is pretty sad that I can just repost this from a year ago *sigh,* not much has changed.
June 9th, 2014-
Why?
The question everyone wants answered in the wake of yet another random shooting but is it the right one?
Normally I stay out of these debates. I have little interest in them but I have found in all the pontificating about the causes of these tragedies that something seems overlooked and wholly unmentioned.
I could be wrong, after all I have unplugged for the last two years.
Before I begin, I will vet my opinion. I didn’t go to culinary school as my career may have implied.
I did attend and graduate with honors from UCSC. I have BS in Psychology and a double minor in Sociology and Philosophy. I wanted my education to aid in my understanding of myself and the world I was born into and I think it has.
Lessons From The Rain Today
I walk through the woods, joyous noise is all around.
A symphony in the trees, here is found.
Because It Is Still True
On our third wedding anniversary I was looking over some older writing and found a poem that still says it perfectly. Happy anniversary to us 🙂
A Question For My Dead Father…
Over the past two years, I have come to fully appreciate why people call it “the grieving process.” After the initial shock and adjustment, a long and winding road unfurled into the future. I have started to adapt to my new fatherless state.
Now:
I remember that I can’t call him- before I reach for my phone to try.
Year Of The Sheep
It is a trip to think that the year of the Sheep/Ram/Goat is more than halfway over!
Chinese New Year is celebrated on the second new moon after the winter solstice. The winter solstice always falls on December 21st. This year the next new moon is on January 10th 2016, and the second new moon is on February 8th 2016.
For us this year was defiantly a year of sheep. We took on this new project without realizing this coincidence. Our introduction to keeping sheep began with a fair bit of drama and sorrow when Rusty died within 3 days of bringing him home.
I spent the next couple weeks with a six week old lamb (Lulu) at my heals/on the couch.
The Prettiest Fungi Of All.
I am astounded by the constant change of the forest here, in Maine. There is a time for everything and everything has its time. We have an incredible amount of fungi in the woods that surround us. Most start fruit in the middle of summer and continue right till winter.
Memorial Pillows
This summer has been one of the most tumultuous seasons in recent years and that’s saying something! I thought it right to spend some time on simple things. Like our couch.
No, wait. I know how that sounds and it’s not like that.
Judge Not…
In memory of Mr. Willams. Rest In Peace.
TBT
The Swell
Again and again I tread the same water passing it over my body and going nowhere, suspended between what is and what is to be.
Then change comes as a wave out of the abyss consuming everything.
Shifting your entire bodily universe and there is nothing anyone can do to prepare for it, it will come when it comes, as it comes.
Time has shown me many things and I look forward to the unsure future being nothing I ever thought it would be.
“Once In A Blue Moon”
It feels apt that July began with a full moon and will end with one too.
The first moon can be called a ‘Blessing Moon’ (an old term for July’s full moon) the one on the 31st of July, will be the second full moon this month and thus- a ‘Blue Moon.’
The time in-between has passed so quickly and with such velocity, it has made my neck sore. Though, it is more likely the discomfort comes from all the physical labor over the recent months.
Life is always shifting, changing, growing; becoming what is next. Watching that growth is awesome, if you can take the time to be aware of it. I have lacked this awareness for some time now and for me, this second moon feels like a reminder that I need to do better.
There is often so much going on around me that, in middle of that whirlwind it feels like there is no change. The spot between my (our) feet looks the same as it ever did.
Wake.
Work.
Home(stead.)
Sleep.
Maybe time to ‘rinse and repeat’
And so on…
But when I poke out through all the whurrling chaos I see to my amazement that this:
Has become this.
Time has defiantly passed!
It is not as if we were absent for the interval in-between. To the contrary, we were acutely aware of every little piece. Literally shepherding their journey. (Except the few times when they have gotten out while we were gone, lord only knows what kind of shindig went down then.)
I have been so focused on the future; that I have done my present and the beings around me, a great disservice. In my impatience for harvest (again, who knows why) often all I see is how far the garden has to go.
Instead of giving it credit for having accomplished quite a bit; since three weeks ago it looked much different.
Some “then” and “nows.” You are smart and can figure which is which. 🙂
There have been so many big changes– I have missed the little ones.
We have been through a lot. Some days have been bloody and dramatic requiring a huge shift of balance and a new view of the future for this homestead.
For instance:
Ghost Plant: A Cure to Ease Emotional Pain
We have scores of this in our woods and I was happy to finally find a article on it’s uses. Thank you!
Meanwhile- Back At The Ranch
This spring was interesting to say the least. We leaned a lot about ourselves, each other, and people in general.
– and (most importantly) managed to come out on the other side just as happy as before. Adaptability always has been one of our greatest assets as a couple and I am more grateful than ever for our marriage, little family and homestead.
The garden got a late start this year. I have faith it will come along nicely. It might look messy but that is in part because we have paired crops together instead of planting monoculture rows. There is buckwheat in with the corn for soil augmentation and beans planted at the base of the corn.
My husband has decided to trellis the tomatoes this year. It is like a whole garden full of experiments.
The Rose That Bloomed Under a Stone
While tending the garden I discovered a stone had trapped a rose below.
Forced to the earth, there was nowhere for it to go.
The Dream & The Wait Part 2
Well, most of you are already aware of the result from the Dream & The Wait. The long and the short is; we have more waiting to do.
We both learned a ton of valuable lessons.
Trust is a hard thing to come by. It is not something that can be put in writing. Trust is a feeling you earn for doing what you say and saying what you do, over an extended period of time. We were in the process of building that type of trust with the community. We had people coming in and enjoying the experience we put out there; even in a place they did not necessarily want to come to (because of its history.)
For those who wanted nothing more than for it to stay the same, they now get what they want but in our defense that is not what we were asked to do. We were pitched a dream “a place to call our own” , “if you build it they will come”, “make it your own” , “It’s your call…” Behind our backs was a different story, the same one that had been playing out for years.
Our track record speaks for itself and so does theirs. I have to admit, it is hard not to feel set-up and used.
Moving forward, Em and I still trust that there is good in people; just maybe not all people, all the time. As we sit here on Father’s Day with our two little munchins I look back at another post I wrote and it hits home harder than when I wrote it. I said “it is not the path you choose to walk but how and who you choose to walk it with.”
We are proud of how we walked but a few of the people we walked it with, were not correct. I reserve a special place in my heart for people that have wronged me. Not a negative place but a place of understanding and realization that not all humans are equipped to deal with true genuine people.
Em and I will move on, make another place in this world for us, not manipulated by the powers that be. I have been looking at various locations but they will have to wait, we need to regroup, reenergize, and wash away the mud we have just run through.
The people we meet though this experience was a great surprise to the both of us, we walked away with more genuine friends than we thought possible. The support from those friends has been amazing. Most people would be bummed at the outcome- and we are in many ways, but we are not with the way we and the staff carried ourselves through the storm. True loyalty is earned and speaks for itself. I can’t say the same for purchased loyalty.
There is a place in this world for everyone.
Gloria Gainer said it best “I Will Survive” and to that note so will we. Life has a funny way of working things out and sometimes you just have to take the ride to remind you of what is really important.
Family, friends, happiness, the garden, and the right to bear arms 🙂 (The Baron, Blevin and a few others are laughing there asses off right now.) I am going to go now and enjoy time with the family.
We wish all you well; that walked down this road with us. We will do everything in my power to get us all back together in a place we all deserve to be. When life gives you lemons make lemonade, I am still trying to figure out what to do when life gives you rotten tomatoes, I guess just compost them.
Live in the present, learn from the past, and move on to the future 🙂
A Short Homestead Update
Time is short these days.
Mother’s Day brunch at The EmRy House went well, in-spite of walking into a kitchen with a convection oven that decided not to heat up (even though the day before there was NO PROBLEM whatsoever) during the 4 hours when I needed it most. We ended up getting the buffet up, on time, with only one small oven…
I have decided that more often than not – if I want to be successful, my life has to be a constant string of contingency plans.
The homestead is no exception.
Currently we have; a fully stocked restaurant kitchen for our grand opening tomorrow and a slightly very neglected homestead. Practically the only thing in our refrigerator at home is a dead rooster.
I came home from work to find that Dude had gotten loose from his cell (I had separated him in order to let the guineas and other chickens out for the day while we were gone) and he proceeded to kick the ever loving crap out of my Little Man.
He broke the tip of his beak off but other than being completely traumatized, he was ok. I found him cowering in Spaz’s under coop lair. Needless to say Dude died quick. I was upset with myself for not taking care of him sooner. It was my mistake and Little Man paid the price.
The lambs are weaning and have an outside enclosure they stay in while we are at work. We still need to make them a permeant outside enclosure, so they are still coming in at night.
The guineas are free ranging around the property, hopefully eating all the bugs as they go.
The Back Burner
It is probably pretty obvious at this point that this blog has been pushed to the back burner. Opening a restaurant turns out to be quite time consuming. I have found myself with a few seconds and so I will give a quick synopsis of the highlights from the past few weeks.
It has been amazing to have our commute to work shortened from an hour plus to ten minutes. In addition the dive is absolutely beautiful. All back roads, only to pop out ON Province Lake. Then a slight jog up the road to ‘the compound.’ I can understand why the Emerys settled here in the first place, it truly is one of those places you can see god’s thumbprint.
The restaurant is a work in progress but there has been a lot of progress.
Word of mouth has spread and even though we are only open in the new deli and bar we have had a few little rushes. We are very grateful for that!
We decided on a name- The EmRy House.
The idea of naming a restaurant after ourselves even slightly has always been something the two of us swore up and down we would never do. Like so much in life; vowing never to do a thing ensured we would be in a position one day to do just that. We went over dozens of other names and none of them made as much sense.
The Emerys built the property and we thought it was only right to pay homage to their original efforts. It is also a little inside joke since I can’t spell (some of you may have noticed) of course I would misspell the name of our restaurant.
Logos have been created (thanks to an amazing graphic designer that Ry knew from Redhook) but not installed.
Busy Days and Drunken Lambs.
Update:
We have been going nonstop since I wrote The Dream & The Wait. As expected, we now live at work and home is for all the animals & livestock we have. The funny thing is at this point I don’t even care.
Life is a challenge and you can’t go running around being scared of it, you need to step up to the plate and take some cuts or you will never succeed. We are starting to get into a routine, my amazing wife goes out in the morning lets the chickens out.
I Spoke Too Soon…
Some days are not as fun as others and some downright F*cking suck. This Tuesday was one of the latter.
We were so excited about our new family members but the excitement was short lived. Tuesday morning, I went out to tend the lambs and my heart dropped into my feet when Rusty would not get up. The night before I had been out there to give them a bottle and both has seemed on the up and up, the next morning was a different story.
I called the large animal vet right away and she was there less than an hour later. The vet was amazing, she gave him vitamin B thinking maybe the stress of the move had lead his body to stop absorbing vitamins (something that is common in stressed lambs.) Then she administered an antitoxin and activated charcoal in case it was something he has gotten into while here but none of it did any good. Less than two hours after my heartbreaking discovery he was gone. His symptoms were neurological by the time we caught them and he passed in loving arms.
Some things aren’t meant to be. We had been visiting him at the feed store every weekend for the past two months. It was because of him we embarked on this lamb adventure in the first place. There was no time to be heart broken or sullen since we still had an even younger lamb Lulu (only 6 weeks) who would now need a lot of attention.
Sheep do not do well solo, the stress from lack of companionship alone can cause them to go off their food and starve in a matter of days. This had not been Rusty’s problem as he had normal bowel moments right until his last breath. The vet administered an additional vaccine to Lulu but said that she looked to be in fine health.
In hindsight the signs were there, we just didn’t notice them. Lamb behavior is subtle; often by the time it is overt and obvious it is too late. We had been so focused on deciding which ewe to choose when we went to pick them up last Saturday we didn’t notice that Rusty was not as spry as usual. After bringing them home all he wanted to do was stand by the hay bale and chew, we just thought “he is going to be a really mellow ram, good.” Where as Lulu would run up the stairs and jump off of them three at a time, Rusty needed encouragement or help. His ears were not very responsive to noise and most of the time, drooped.
He had no interest in the bottles that Lulu chugged with great glee and tail shaking. We thought this was fine, since he was older and mostly weaned. He had no interest in running and jumping. Again, we just thought she was more rambunctious; now we know. He didn’t show much interest in grooming himself, Lulu is always preening and stretching. All these subtle things added up to a very sick lamb.
There were many things the vet told us that we had not aware of.