A Housewife with “the Sight”

Thick snow begins to blanket my quiet, little homestead.  It is peaceful.  Last night my spirit was reeling, this morning it is calm.  The birds sing sweetly from the trees.

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Have you read my memoir?  (AuthorKatieSanders.com) The Making of a Medicine Woman; the Memoirs of Bird Woman is my life story.  It is filled with many of the tales that I don’t typically mention on Farmgirl School for fear of scaring off a few folks.  In my other, less written about blog, DancingwithFeathers.com, I wrote a few months ago about a shaman friend who came to visit me.  “You are not getting out of it that easy,” she breezily said.  I didn’t think I would do that work anymore.

“You’re a medium,” the reader next to my cousin at the holistic fair yesterday said as he stopped me.  “Can you help this woman?”  Uh…er…what?  I sat down with her at my cousin’s empty table (she was out shopping) and immediately her recently deceased husband started talking to her through me.  I felt his every pain, how he died, how he was still worried about his business partner.  For twenty minutes, the fellow filled his wife in with everything she needed know.  Through tears, she nodded, smiled, and I may never see her again.  She gave me twenty dollars.  It is so awkward to take money for spiritual work.

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I suppose that this is only odd in this day and age.  My Nordic, Celtic, and Native ancestors wouldn’t have thought it at all strange that the lady of the house would have “the sight.”  I always figure that I can just be normal.  I can be a housewife.  I can sew and make tea and play the piano and play with my grandbaby…who is psychic as well.

“You have to do readings.  You have to do the medium work,” the reader said.  I had sat down with him after I spoke with the woman.  If truth be told, I had already done three other readings at Julie’s table.  They just kept coming.

I took a break from doing spiritual work in July.  I love being a spiritual guide.  I love helping people.  But I wasn’t sure if I was actually helping anyone.  And I wasn’t sure what emotional or physical effect it was having on me.

A woman in the hall stopped me at the fair.  “Remember when you told me that a cowboy would be coming in to my life?  He did!  Just as you described him!”  She was so happy.

Apparently there is no hiding behind the sewing machine or pressure canner on this one.  Yes I am a homemaker, a quilter, a homesteader, a Grammie, a wife, a mama, an animal lover, a passionate gardener and herbalist.  I am a great lover of the Creator and of Mother Earth and of all the ancestors and guides and nature spirits and yes, I guess I am an instrument to help people find their way with a most unusual talent.  We all have a role to play in helping others.  It is our destiny.

 

The Humble Housewife

My mother was a housewife.  It was easier and more affordable for her to stay home with all of us kids.  We started caring for foster babies when I was young so there were no less than five of us at any given time.  The home was her domain and everything was tidy and clean and healthy supper was on the table nearly every night.  In the evenings she and my dad would often escape together to go get a Coke and take a drive with the portable cassette player singing tunes sans children.  I always assumed she would get a job when we all moved out.  But she didn’t.  It took awhile for me to realize, she has a job.  And even though my dad is retired, she still has the job. She is a full-time homemaker.

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Women are brilliant nurturers, mothers, and just asking one’s husband to get something that is clearly right in front of him in the cupboard but he can’t find it is proof that the home is our domain.  Men are our warriors, our providers, our heavy lifters.  There are exceptions, of course, but homesteading on a prairie practically off-grid taught me that our roles are not to “put us in our place” or “keep us in the kitchen,” they were (are) practical ways for survival.  Yes, we can all switch roles, but it took Doug a quarter of the time to chop wood, move hay, or fix something.  And if he goes to clean something, put something away, or heaven forbid, sew something, odds are I am going to have to do it again so we just stuck to our roles!  Men innately take pride in providing for the family.  Women in the past always took care of the children, took care of the home, took pride in their work, and would often make a little extra money for the household by selling hand crafted items.

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We have noticed over the years of raising children, and even as empty nesters, that when I have a job we spend more money.  At that point, I don’t have time to clean the house so we hire a house cleaner.  I don’t have the energy to cook so we go out.  I need a break so we go do something.  We spend a lot of money and eat terribly.

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I always stayed home or had my own business that I could take my kids to when they were growing up, but what about now?  I think about the judgment I passed on my mother in my late teens for staying home and making dad “do all the work.”  Is that how society will view me?  Now that my businesses have closed we have been talking about me being a homemaker.  We are modern homesteaders in the city.  We preserve as much food as possible.  We have chickens.  I crochet and quilt and sew.  We use a wood stove in the evenings.  I write books and this blog and I do get some small royalties.  I teach a few classes in my home and I am an herbalist.  Can I give myself permission to be a homemaker too?

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We purposely chose a city where our mortgage payment can easily be covered by one person.  We don’t have fancy cell phone plans or cable.  We have designed a life where I can be a housewife, which is where I am happiest.  I love nurturing, folding warm clothes, having a hot meal ready when my husband gets home from work, having the errands done so we can relax together on the weekends, hand making Christmas presents, caring for my animals, and being there when my grown children and grandbabies need me.  It is the hardest job I can think of but it suits my busy, independent nature just fine.  Yes, I think I will thrive here.

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If we give ourselves the option to be anything and to do anything, let us also give ourselves the right to be homemakers.  May we all give more respect and honor to the housewives, the homemakers, the stay-at-home Mamas, and the stay-at-home Grammies in our society for they keep the heart of the family and home beating strong.

 

 

My Mom’s Cheese Stuffed Peppers Recipe

 

20171011_084241My mom was a Farmgirl before I knew what a Farmgirl was.  She loves the Little House on the Prairie books as much as I do.  She always has an apron on if in the kitchen.  She was unabashedly a housewife; our house always clean, supper always on the table.  As soon as they could my parents bought land east of Denver and created a homestead of chickens, a very windy garden, bees, and at one point goats and horses.  My dad built them a darling farmhouse with his own two hands.

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It is funny how taste can transport you back to childhood.  For me the flavor of my mom’s green peppers is one of my favorites.  There are no stuffed peppers like these.  The combination of toasted almonds and juicy raisins plumped in rich tomato sauce has a flavor you will fall in love with!

I had some fresh green peppers and tomatoes in the garden that needed eating before the frost came so I emailed my mom (again) for the recipe.  I had put up plenty of spaghetti sauce.  I used my own homemade broth as well.  The directions are easy and in no time at all you will have a scrumptious dinner on the table!

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Recipe

Thanks Mom!

Farmgirl Fashionista

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In a world of jeans and yoga pants I suppose I stand out a bit.  I think folks are both mesmerized and baffled by my attire.  I was at the library last month and a mom came up to me, big eyes, all excited, and asked, “Is there going to be story time?” Heck if I know.  I looked down at my layered skirts, apron, old fashioned boots, and remembered my Santa hat and realized she thought I was in costume!

Maryjane wears her apron around with me and it is not uncommon for us to be asked if were just in a parade or festival.  Do we bake?  Why on earth would we be parading around as such?  Well, let me explain.  Let’s go through the elements of the Farmgirl attire.

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#1 Long skirt- This is important because I am too tall to find jeans that fit right.  I never stop moving so jeans aren’t exactly comfortable.  A long skirt is comfortable and practical.  Ever since Maryjane was about twelve months old she hides under my skirts.  Her hands wrapped around my leg, she giggles thinking no one can see her, her little feet sticking out.  As she gets taller and older I know this is limited now and I relish feeling her cold hands on my leg, that giggling, her security from the world hidden next to my leg.  It is a very maternal feeling and I know all too well she will grow out of it soon.  (I buy my skirts at the Elizabeth Celtic Festival.  It is a rather simple pattern that uses elastic or string to cinch the waist.)

#2 Slips- In a world of too tight skirts and panty lines, I do still love the look of a beautiful cotton slip.  Mine has a long swath of eyelet around the bottom.  It is feminine and beautiful.  I also wear a full skirt under my regular skirt as well.  Why?  Well, I am cool in the summer with the layers, and warm in the winter with the layers.  It makes my dress swish.  It is lovely and modest and sexy all at the same time.  And at my age, I don’t care what the style is.  I like the old fashioned look.

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#3 Apron- If you do not wear an apron each day how do you find your phone and keys?  Mine would be lost in my purse, possibly forever.  I also can carry a tissue, my to-do list, and a few flowers I harvested.  The original reason for an apron was to cover a woman’s dress, for she probably only had two, one for every day and one for church.  The apron is easier to wash and keeps clothes cleaner, meaning if you haven’t traipsed through mud, you can hang your skirt back up. (Mine were made by an Amish woman and her daughters, a neighbor of a blog reader.  Some of mine I made, or were gifts, or hand me downs, and some really quite old that belonged to Kat’s grandmother.)

#4 Old fashioned boots- Stickers, weeds, rain, snow, cold or hot weather, farming, shoveling, and a cute addition to any farmgirl attire.  (I got mine at Big R.)

We farmgirls have lots to do, from taking care of the homestead, cooking for folks, farming, and for me, being the local folk healer, so wearing beautiful, comfortable clothes is just one perk of being a farmgirl.

The Homesteading Bug…or in the Blood?

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There are some that are content with flowers in a pot.  There are those who are perfectly happy turning on a switch to make the fire come to life (the gas flame is rather pretty).  A package of this food or that blended with another to make “homemade” food.  Our society has a different view of homemaking these days.  But I, well I used to think I had the homesteading bug.  A bug that I wondered would pass once we entered the city.  Would I miss canning?  It is tedious work.  Would I miss hand washing dishes and clothes lines, and the smell of firewood setting aflame while a pot of beans is set on the wood stove to percolate?

I guess you know the answer.

City life can be rather easy.  My friend cleans my apartment once a week.  I leave for work with everyone else and work very, very hard all week long.  So does Doug.  We come home and fix supper or head out to eat.  We switch on the fire.  And a movie.  We feed the cats.  I do laundry.  It is quick, even though our clothes are a bit shrunk from the dryer…or the lifestyle.

We long for chores and the cool breeze as we run to the chicken coop to let the ladies out.  We miss the sight of dozens of jewel colored jars cooling on the counters waiting for the larder (I did get several dozen things put up, but we’ll be out by next month).  I miss the sound of the dehydrator and the smell of drying tomatoes.  The sound of crackling from the first log that catches in the wood stove.  I miss the extensive gardens to water and the music blaring from my earphones as I dance and water at the same time, entertaining the neighbors.  I miss pointing out what we grew on the plate (sometimes all of it).  I miss falling into bed exhausted with a huge smile of completion on my face.  Planning the winter rests of learning to knit and weave and spin and the books I’ll catch up on.  Only to be planning the next year’s gardens and pouring over seed catalogues instead.

We wondered if we would get over the homesteading bug when set into a life of a bit more ease.  But, no, it turns out, it was homesteading blood.  Not a bug.  We are a few of those folks that could go back to 1890 with ease.  Playing the fiddle or working as we please.  To step out of normal society is a plus.  Yes, on a mini-farm and homestead you will find us.

I look forward to donning my apron again.  The one that swaddled new born goats and chicks.  The one my granddaughter can hide under.  To wipe my hands on after chopping a zillion vegetables or to wipe my brow after crawling on my hands and knees to plant tiny seeds that will become life and infuse our life with…life.

Some of us just have homesteading in our blood.

Thy Neighbor’s Homesteading Stuff

Is that a commandment?  Thou shalt not covet thy roommate’s homesteading stuff?

These things were his mother’s.  I wonder if she used them or if they were a collection or if someone in her family once used them.  I’ll have to ask David.  But they are a fabulous assortment of things that fuel me to get back on the land.

There are magnificent canners in the garage and handmade crafts scattered throughout the home.  I cannot wait to start using homesteading items again in my soon-to-be wishing-it-into reality homestead!

Three Chile Mole Chili (5 minute dinner!)

I needed to get to the shop.  We were loading things into the car.  We weren’t getting home until kind of late.  We don’t have the money to keep eating out.  What to do?  Throw everything into a large crockpot and run out the door, of course!  We came home to the smells of savory hot chili wafting through the house welcoming us in.  Doug opened us each a Vanilla Porter and I poured us a few bowls of flavorful chili.  The prep time was about five minutes.  Well worth it, I tell you.

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Three Chile Mole Chili

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Into a large crockpot, or half the recipe for a regular sized one, add the following:

1 cup of dried pinto beans

1 cup of dried kidney beans

1 package of meatless ground (we like Quorn brand…so good, non-GMO)

1 jar of 505 green chili

1 large can or jar of diced tomatoes

1 quart of broth

Then add more or less:

2 teaspoons of Mole seasoning (it’s cocoa and chile and amazing)

1 teaspoon of garlic powder

1 teaspoon of cumin

1 teaspoon of red chile powder (New Mexican preferably)

1/2 teaspoon of chipotle powder

(I get my spices from Savory)

Now put it on low and run out the door!  Eight hours later your are boss of dinner.

The Inspired Writer/Farmer’s Farmhouse (perhaps it’s time to do the dishes)

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This is an excusive look inside a farmhouse whose occupants have been busy with shows promoting their farm, fluffy farm animals, and writing books.  I warn you, these written images are not for the meek.

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There are cat boogies in my hair

the lamb just peed under the chair

the dining table is filled with business and such

the dishes in the sink are too scary to touch.

I have lost the dog, I must confess

He’s probably under all this mess

Scary spiders have moved into the cobwebs, you see

Something under the couch is lurking at me (oh wait, that’s a kitten)

Spring clean I must!

Scrub, and sweep, and certainly dust.

Been writing books, and my mind’s elsewhere with all this fluff

I hope to find my sanity under all this stuff!