Modern Pioneer Woman (crackling fires and homesteading)

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I forgot to mention one of my favorite cookbooks yesterday!  “The Pioneer Woman Cooks” by Ree Drummond is filled with mouthwatering recipes that can feed a crowd or easily be halved.  I highly recommend the Fig and Prosciutto Pizza.  I love the step-by-step photographs and stories.

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I enjoy being a modern pioneer woman.  We hoped and prayed for this little homestead to somehow make itself known and available.  This sunny, quaint homestead is peaceful surrounded by miles and miles of birdsong and prairie.  My heart rests easy here.  However, if you have been following me for awhile you know we had some tearful, freezing moments this last winter.  It was cold.  Much more so than I can fully express.  I was upset that I believed the small wood cook stove in the kitchen would heat the whole house.  I am most upset that my animals seemed to fare poorly from it.  It seemed to age my older cat, Ichabod and Bumble the Greyhound.  It broke my heart to see them so cold.  Even “Little House on the Prairie” had a proper wood stove!

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The new wood stove was fired up last night to test it and Ichabod found the warmest spot possible.

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The final bill made me gasp and tear up, actually.  I thought that I could pay the lease through with tuitions so I wouldn’t have to worry so much this summer.  (No more worrying!) But it all went to pay for warmth.  Which will be worth every penny.  And I thankful I had the money for it.  I love the funky style of the stove.  I look forward to (though I am not rushing!) cooking on my new stove and being blissfully warm while the snow tumbles down.

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I so enjoy this lifestyle.  I love my long skirts and aprons.  I love my clothes line.  I think I will get out the clothes handwasher for summer.  I love kneading bread and hearing the tops of the jars pop closed of preserved garden fare.  I love the sight of a rotund lamb running and jumping, the sound of milk hitting the pail, the rooster crowing.  I love growing and cooking fresh food and sitting on the porch with a glass of wine listening to the frogs in the pond.  I love waking up at dawn and going to bed at dark, no alarms.  No outside work.  No schedules.  Just the bustling of a busy homestead and the sound of a crackling fire.

Rainy Days, Worries, Manifesting, and Farming

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The rain has been gently coming down for days.  It will continue today.  My cold crop seeds, parsnips, potatoes, garlic, onions, radishes, mustard, stir fry greens, spinach, Swiss chard, snow, snap, and Alaskan peas, pak choi, carrots, beets, lettuce, herbs, all these things stay in their blanket of fresh soil and the water will rejuvenate them into life.  The rain dampens my heart just a bit.  A sliver of warm sun would do me good but perhaps this rain will wash away my worries.

Oh, we all have worries.   I take them as a waver in faith.  I know all is well and that we are where we are supposed to be but sometimes the mind can get oversaturated with thoughts.  Perhaps I should stand in the rain until they are gone.

Did I move too far away?  We end up driving back to our old town nearly every day.  Over 160 miles for two round trips to watch our beloved baby.  Back there again for Celtic Festival meetings and bank trips. I only know the friendly faces that I miss seeing regularly at the coffee shop and around town.

Will the landlords grow tired of the animals and the farm and the comings and goings that go with it?  Already a comment was made about the chickens.  Did I make a mistake?

Did I really just practically give away our means of paying bills?  I dreamt I opened another apothecary, this time in the high end Cherry Creek district.  A laugh of course.  Why can’t I be patient and finish jumping off this cliff and see that we will be just fine financially?  That we are living the life we wanted.  That we are always fine.

Perhaps I am tired from assisting Isabelle’s birth and then watching her baby go to her new home yesterday.  Perhaps the weekend caught up with me.  Perhaps I should go sit in the rain.  It is so cold though.  Coldest winter we have ever endured.

My cousin, Heather, said to me, “You manifested everything else, why don’t you just manifest another wood stove?”  And of course we did and it is being put in tomorrow.  So enough with the worries.  We will have food here on this farm, new friends, our family, and a spectacular view.  Another shot of coffee and plan the week’s course.  There are animals to care for and seeds to plant.  No time to second guess myself now.

This was from the series of paintings I did four years ago of the animals I eventually wanted on my imagined farm.

This was from the series of paintings I did four years ago of the animals I eventually wanted on my imagined farm.

And this is one of our sheep, Sven.  I do love living on a farm.

And this is one of our sheep, Sven. I do love living on a farm.

Is That You Spring?

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I heard a faintly familiar sound as I approached the front door to let the lambs out.  A swooshing and cleansing sound.  The sound of rain.  Of Spring rain.  The shivering breath I had held all winter was released in a single, thankful exhale.  We made it to spring.  We made it through our first winter in this 1905 homestead.  We made it through the thirty-five degree bathroom, we made it snuggled up with cats, and with six layers of clothes on.  We are entering springtime on the homestead.  It is beautiful.

The rain washes the porches and my clothes on the line clean.  The trees are drinking in giant gulps and spreading their arms after their long winter nap.  Bits of green spreads like fingers across the prairie floor.  The meadowlark sings.  The robin searches for worms.  The birds are home for spring.  My gardens await and I have much work to do.  A fresh start and half an acre to prepare in the next few weeks.

Baby season is upon us and the lambs warm our hearts and laps.  The goats are getting large with child.  The world and I are waking up.

Welcome Spring.  You are our blessed guest.

 

Icy Breath and Dreams of Spring

The sun rose strong this morning, filling the room with soft, life giving light.  Deceiving, however, as it hovers around -26 degrees as I write this.

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Hell is not hot, folks, I am convinced that Hell is -26 degrees.  When I went out to feed the animals last night, the water in my eyes froze, my nose froze, my glove stuck to the chicken coop door.  And then to the chicken feed scoop.  The cat litter in the boxes froze in the back room, along with organic soda pop, and the cats’ water.

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Outdoors along its frigid edge an intense beauty and peace appears.  It is crisp, clear, clean.  The sun rays dance its pink fingers across the expanse of snow, and I am mesmerized by the beauty of winter.  A winter that is so much colder than I have ever experienced in my life.  And one I hope will not repeat itself.  I find myself praying fervently to protect my animals.  Their breath caught in icy waves, I wish them warmth and a cozy living room.  I pray that this cold snap ceases.  I promise not to curse the heat this summer.  I will wear the sweat and heat with comfortable grins.  And know we are past this wretched cold.  Please help my animals make it.

All reminders that we are not in fact in charge or powerful enough to control anything here.  Mother Nature has final say.  We respect her.  We understand that negative temperatures could take the lives of our animals.  That a tornado could take our home away.  That a flood or hail storm could wipe out our plants.  But also that a sunny day can feel like renewal.  That light rain and mist can feel magical.  We live in awe of the seasons and do not despair, for in it all we grow stronger, we grow more humble, we grow more thankful.  We know that Spring will come.