I have been bad about writing admittedly, but I hope to improve as I settle back into life on the homestead. There is at least one funny and one serious post in the works, but until then I wanted to share with you something I have been theorizing for the last year.
It is both new and used, but I figured there might be some interest because of the rising group of homesteaders and those who misunderstand them.
My journey in homesteading and agriculture has been different then most of my family’s. Mom set out on a mission to teach Annie, Molly, and I about sustainability, but I was wrapped up in my own little world. While the girls were at home learning about homesteading and animals, I was at school. Two years later I graduated, suddenly finding myself waking up to a world where I couldn’t open a book to get away. I’ll explain my transition simply. I moved from commenting on the Essence of Christian Hedonism to battling the family rooster, a real world bucket of cold water splashed in my face. I started working at a Latin restaurant which taught me more in a year about real life than I had learned in all of high school. The next summer I went to Indonesia which put me on a farm again with my best friend. There I learned about hard work, love, and squatty potties, not that I didn’t know about any of that before hand, but I was only just waking up to the real world. I came home and started school, losing myself in books again, but to my chagrin you can’t make the real world go away. I guess dealing with it is what is called maturity. Now I am almost twenty and finally understanding what mom sees as so wonderful about our homestead. The stories I’m writing pick up in the middle of our world, but I know they will apply to yours too.
Here’s are a few excerpts:
Four thirty is an ungodly hour. Five is bearable on those days when the sun is peaking through the transom and you can smell the coffee perking in the kitchen. But this morning the predawn light woke me up to neither coffee, nor any other decent smell. Fish. I don’t mind the smell in tuna salad or shrimp cocktail, but at five in the morning when you have a headache, mom’s most recent homesteading project is not the first thing you want to deal with. Her little seedlings on the plastic table by the tv in her bedroom were covered in some sort of fish based fertilizer. It would just be a few more days, but it made me happy I worked out of the house for most of the day.
I crawled out of bed careful not to wake my younger sisters in the next room. Mom and Dad left the house at four thirty to drive down to LA for my aunt’s surgery, so it fell to me to get the girls going before their morning classes and I had to leave.
My work clothes were in the washing machine, I needed to make lunch, and my I-need-coffee -right-now-or-I-might-die headache was just getting started. This only served to remind me that I was not drinking coffee.
By five forty I had done everything I could think of, so I did what any sane person would do. I took my glass of water, iPad, and curled back up in bed The girls were going to need breakfast before seven, so Annie would have time to milk the goat before her class. Fortunately the odor of rotting fish kept me awake until it was time to get the girls up.
Still in my pajamas, I found last night’s leftovers and put them in the oven. This would be odd if it were not a quiche. I threw together my gluten free protein packed lunch of a rice cake with peanut butter and a fruit ‘n nut bar I made yesterday. Just as I finished, the washing machine door clicked unlocked signaling a clean fresh load of laundry.
Gathering my glass of ginger tea and my iPad with news of underwear bombs lighting up the screen, I grabbed my work clothes and ran to wake my sisters up.