My Days Are Full
Right now I think a lot about how I might reinvent myself to restart a cash flow once we get to the other side of the virus. But it doesn’t stop me as there is lots to do. My days are full of cooking, baking, weeding and planting. It’s a rhythm I know well–one remembered from my thirties and forties when I was deep in my dream of being as self-sufficient as possible. I learned back then that a self-sufficient kind of life is a lot of work, and an expensive life style to keep if you don’t have a trust fund, which I didn’t have. I did as much as I could during those years to eat food from farms in my area and also from my garden which was 25 feet from my kitchen. I worked as a piano teacher to bring in the cash needed to pay utilities, taxes, and insurance. It was a good life. What I learned then is serving me now.
I’ve worked hard investing in family and land and continue to do so, and saved, saved, saved, tucking away little bits here and there, when I could, for a rainy day which apparently is now here. My son lives next door with his girlfriend Olivia. There is enough land here to grow food, not to feed us completely, but definitely enough to supplement what goes on the table. I sprouted peas for stir-fries and planted them tonight on the north fence line of the garden. Olivia transplanted a young Comice pear tree to be in front of their house, carefully sighting it so it will keep the stellar view of Hurricane Ridge from being blocked when it is mature. I hope I’m around to harvest some of its sweet fruit as it grows.
A few months back, I ordered up a new stainless steel sink to replace the one that had been here for about 35 years…so old that the drain catch had rusted through so it was just one big open hole to the drain pipe that I had covered with a mesh basket. My son installed the new sink for me yesterday. I love it. I feel so uptown and stylish washing my hands and dishes. This afternoon he started work to replace all the rotted out posts and boards of the old garage at their house, using supplies he has traded and bartered for. No question in my mind where he learned to do that. The sun has now set and they’ll be heading over for cornbread and black bean soup soon.
A friend gave me some of his sour dough starter today. He got it in Alaska and has cared for and fed it for 35 years. It was about 90 years old when he received it. That makes it about 125 years old by my count. I’ve got sourdough bread started and even though I can’t eat it when it’s baked, because of my intolerance to gluten, my son and his sweetie can. Gifts from my heart and hands. That’s my love language.
This is my day in this little corner of the northwest. I am grateful to be alive and look forward to another.
Love to you all,