My long, layered skirts, aprons, and prairie style do not even invoke a second glance in Elizabeth. The country knows me, as well as its occupants. In the city, here in Parker, Lord, I am provoking full on gawks and stares! I feel a bit like a fish out of water.
Yet, I sit near the large window looking out across rooftops and mountain ranges, a cup of coffee and a cat on the sill, and write. I am also in my element here. How odd how many versions of ourselves coexist. Maybe not reinventing, but finding a way for all of the various selves to combine.
I am tired of my prairie dresses. I am not on the prairie. Nancy and I are no longer farmgirls. There is no farm. I sit in a coffee shop using the wifi and sipping tea. The sun creeps from behind the building and splays across the pavement. It will be a beautiful day.
I am not homesteading. I am living the city life. We booked our trip to see friends in San Diego for my birthday. We have no charges to find a farm sitter for. We walk here and there and listen to song birds and stop in for sushi.
Does anyone read this blog anymore? The term Farmgirl School seems a bit deceiving. Oh, there are plenty of years of articles to aid the newbie farmer here. Indeed. Yet, I seek myself among cars and shops. Near community gardens and coffee shops. Across windowsills and in more normal attire. A clairvoyant healer walks into the city in flowing dresses and a desire for sheep and ends up in a jean jacket sipping tea in a crowded coffee shop. Unidentifiable?
No, I am still noticeable and I have a great many adventures ahead of me. A writer still must have an outlet even if the readers stop reading. Or perhaps new ones will join. Or perhaps many are still here. Sit down and have a cup of tea with me. It is almost spring.