Wife, writer, tinkerer, grower of food. I'm happiest outside our rambling farmhouse with a basket looped on my arm, picking dinner from the garden. That's joy right there. Please follow along; I'm so glad you're here!
Man. Friday tends to be the day when the rest of the week catches up with me. All this... SUMMERING, you know? Hurling myself at work to be done-- both outside and in, mental and physical-- from nine to five, then doing a feverish "second shift" of food preservation/from-scratch dinner making from 5-7, then grabbing a ten-minute shower, getting dressed, and jetting off to find free outdoor live music/a pool table/the county fair/a creek/take a hike/build a fire. Bed, usually a little tipsy from cheap beer, at 11, too late to keep waking up EARLY the next morning and hitting repeat. But I do, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday-- and then, err-rrt! Record scratch! Friday morning my body and mind says NO.
This morning was supposed to be calm and rested, and it was, mostly, until I went to put a few bags of blueberries I picked yesterday in the chest freezer, which I'd just plugged in (for the season) only to find... freezer not cold. LE SIGH. $65 Craigslist chest freezer I bought six years ago, my lifeblood from July to March, needs... something. Hopefully something cheap. Meanwhile, my fridge-freezer is CRAMMED.
I will be making jam tomorrow, because there is no room to store frozen berries.
But yesterday we sold our old kitchen cabinets and counters and sink for $400! And this weekend Patrick is going to be gone most of both days, and-- it is terrible to admit I'm looking forward to it, a little bit-- I am looking forward to wallowing in me-stuff. Weeding and food preservation, sure, but also watching Orange is the New Black, and Nashville, and maybe drinking a gin and tonic in bed. Y'know.
Incredible progress continues to be the name of the game. I only spent three "shifts" painting the house this week, instead of the strived-for five, but hey hey, my my, look at the progress that was made.
For reference, this was last week:
Fooosh. And now it is August. Good heavens. In my weaker moments I think, longingly, about the possibility of vacation. This time last year we were in Nashville. And I remind myself of everything that is coming up, of the genuine value of staying put most of the summertime, at least when you're of the homesteader persuasion, just to get it all in. And I remind myself-- three months and twenty-eight days and we will be going BACK to Nashville, for in an especially dark moment of late March, I went and booked seven nights in Music City.
And I have to say, booking a vacation eight months in advance? Awesome. Every little calamity that crops up in life-- kitchen reno dragging into extra innings, car breakdowns, deer getting into the garden-- our mantra has been It's okay! We're going BACK to NASHVILLE! It had been wonderful. It's the light at the end of the tunnel, not that our life is a tunnel, but, well, it's still nice to have something AMAZING to look forward to.
Oh yes. Just right after the raspberries and the green beans and the zucchini and tomato season and I finish painting the house and the KITCHEN and and and... just right after all those things. No problemo.