House of Dreams, Raccoons, and Riches

IMG_4646

This house speaks in whispers telling of past families and memories.  It so fills me with inspiration every time we pass it.  I want to live there, to make a fire in the hearth, to grow something in the solarium.  I want to hang clothes on the line and tend to the chickens.  This 1907 house is supposedly inhabited by six people according to the internet but it looks abandoned.  Short stories and poems flow from its bones and I long to start a garden and trim the weeds so that one can see the wrought iron gate as they pass the statuesque frame of home.

IMG_4649

IMG_4648

IMG_4650

Do you see the visitor in the yard?

Do you see the visitor in the yard?

Ahh, I wish.

raccoon

The house we are staying at is enchanted.  A raccoon visits each evening.  Margie has dubbed her “Miko”.  She won’t come too close, just to the end of a pizza crust.

raccoon 2

I wasn’t too pleased with her this morning though!  We left our windows down in the truck.  Doug called me down to take a look at my seat this morning.  The vandal had opened a grocery bag of rotten leftovers and soup.  We wondered who would have done such a thing.  She had rifled through everything in the truck and left her telling, adorable hand prints on everything!  I knew immediately who the culprit was.

me and baby pool

Thus far, we have run into some dead ends regarding jobs but we won’t give up.  I imagine we will end up in Denver, Doug hopes to stay out here.  We’ll see.  Today we have food, clothes, shelter, transportation, health, family, friends, and a little change.  And though we have little else, we have the stuff that makes us rich.

baby and kitty

To Thine Own Self Be True (a recognition of oneself when starting over)

SAM_0402

I am Yeopim Indian and Cherokee proud, and Scottish and English and Irish loud, along with Dutch and Black French and possibly more.  And from them all my genetic disposition lays.  In my hair, in my eyes, in my innate knowledge and intuition, in my sense of adventure and in my search for home do I find glimpses of all those that came before.  All my ancestors, all in me.  But I alone have my spirit.  My true self.  That has been here before.

And in mindful analysis and decompression of the physical frame as each day becomes a bit more mundane the layers of thought and peers wash aside as the essence of being comes forth in glints of light.

“Why do you fear being wealthy?”  “Why do you believe you do not deserve riches?” I am asked.

Struck, I wonder, is this true?  Should I be rich in homes with heightened ceilings and possessions galore?  Is that what my life’s work is for?  I would like to have enough-though that maybe less than many, more than some.  Seeds to grow into food for mind and strength and chickens here and there.  A rambling adobe with rooms for art and friends, for laughter, for cooking, for light, and memory.

Enough to visit new places at whim, for inspiration and to meet people and culture new.  But to watch a sunset from my own porch swing would be as sweet a riches as I could dream.

Sommelier?  I cannot drink more than one glass of wine!  Food industry?  I can’t stay up past nine!  A city plot, cement gardens, and lack of birds, no deer around, no late owl heard?

Impossible.

Homesteader, homemaker, home dreamer am I.  Making a home under the Great Mystery’s sky.

My job is to raise grandchildren when so blessed to have them near.  To teach them herbs, and trees, and birds, and through the wind the Creator heard.  To show them things that schools do not know.

To help those that seek my help, in physical or spiritual need should they ask, to find the right herbs and prayers and songs.

Silence and nature are my friends as the early dawn and the night sky guide my days all year long.