Coffee. A homesteading necessity.
Doug and I have gone through many a coffee pot in our adult lives and for the past several years on the farm we opted for a simple French Press. Off grid ready, rich, fresh, easy.
This apartment has brought on the “great respite” for us while outside its walls we work and save for a farm. Inside it is peaceably quiet with only the old clock ticking. The overhead lighting (where are my oil lamps?!), fireplace run by a switch, dishwasher, washer, dryer, easy layout to clean, all of these things make life remarkably lazy and sweet at the moment. Not too bad. And as I relax further I realize how much I do not want to wake at six (still on farm time) and boil water and pour it over the grounds. Oh my, I have gotten lazy. (It’s only temporary, Folks.)
Doug and I reminisced over a certain coffee pot we used to have. Some sixteen years ago I wanted it so much. It was a hundred dollars, a fortune for a coffee pot at the time. It had a grinder built in. And it was programmable to show the time, set a timer, and by itself grind and brew coffee. Grandma and Grandpa bought it for me for Christmas that year. Grandpa used to joke that it did everything, wouldn’t surprise him if it served you too! I’d get up, feed the children, turn on Martha Stewart and pour myself a cup that was brewed just for me.
That used to be our alarm. The sweet sound of a coffee grinder. We set out to find one of these old coffee pot models but only found a regular coffee pot or a one pod, one cup variety that seemed like it was aiding in killing Mother Earth each sweet cup at a time (and I drink three cups each morning!). A box sat on the counter and Doug had me open it. It was my anniversary present. He had found it on the internet. The sweet sound of the grinder wakes us and the smell of fresh coffee brewing alerts our senses to a new glorious day.
Life is made up of the small things.
We rambled up the long driveway in our old truck and took in the view of the alpaca farm down the hill and the glorious eastern horizon where the sunrises will glint down upon the plants and through the numerous trees that reside on his property.
“I really feel that the sage is here to welcome you,” he said. I was struck and honored at his words. The sage is prolific there. It grows rampant this year among the many Cherokee roses. The prickly pear and the mullein are all there. Pines so tall they can recall when the Kiowa Indians roamed these hills and called them home.
The owner of this property is well respected, a friend of mine, who works in an emotionally challenging job helping the ill and passing. He lives in this large home alone. He needs help here. It is a glorious home that holds the spirits of his parents that built it. Sparkling ceilings and medicine bags in the foundations. The property has a retreat-like property and vortexes abound. It is a special place. We will live here for a year. We will help him sort and get ready to let this beautiful house go as he moves on to his next journey next autumn.
In the meantime we will have acres of medicinal herbs and trees to use and protect. Sunrises that greet us through the walk out basement doors. Three more cats to add to our menagerie. One of his chickens approached me in greeting. A wood cook stove and wood stove to help supplement heat. A kitchen upstairs for me to make sure everyone has sustenance. I feel quite well received here among his mother’s things and the spirit of the house and land. I found Doug in a recliner with one of the house cats on his lap. I think we’ll be real happy here.
It is two miles from my shop so a brisk morning walk will take place each day but that, perhaps, is a part of the hidden blessings. Since becoming homeless and losing everything three months ago we have been swimming several times with our granddaughter and friends, to Utah, to a winery, in an airplane, sang on our son’s album, have visited, and made friends. We have dreamed, comforted, and become fiercely grateful for everything. We are more flexible and need less. We will be content with a bed and two chairs before a roaring fire as the snow drops silently outside the window upon the world of peace and quiet. Cats curled up near us. A table. A bookshelf. Cups of hot coffee. That is all. That is all we really need anyway. Each other and an enjoyment of this life right here and now is what we’ll thrive on.