We're still in Alaska for about 5 more weeks (7 for Shawn and Maizey) but that hasn't stopped us from honoring (read: mourning) Maine Maple Sunday, looking at seed catalogs, and wondering about how to plan a garden that is completely harvestable by the time we leave for our next adventure. Thank you friends who have stopped by, watered, or asked us how you could help. You are keeping our home alive for us and it truly means so much.
We have missed our farmstead dearly. . . when you decide to feed a different part of yourself, it doesn't quench the thirst or still the hunger pains of that which you are turning away from. I imagine my greenhouses, planted over our Christmas vacation-- dead dry and hot, no one to be there each day to crack a door or give them that H2O lifeline. . . I imagine my garlic popping and the coming strawberries and I am thankful for friends. . . I think of the weeds around all the edible perennials and I feel my eyes sting.
With so much invested into a place, so many memories. . .birth, death, sickness, growth, deep love, fear and so much fun. . . it is hard to pass each season without recalling the vivid details-- the smells, the conversations, the breeze, the sounds-- especially the sounds--. Sometimes I wake in the night hearing the brook gurgling out of my open window, sometimes its the sap plunking as if in a vacuum, sometimes its a winter wind rattling my window.
Having a farmstead-or living close to nature's seasons in any way- leaves a depth and comprehension of life that otherwise might go unnoticed. It is a busy life that does not always leave time for reflection, but stepping away from it this past year has forced that reflection upon me. I miss it so much. A hand-made life is rare in modern USA. I am grateful to have so many people in my life who value it dearly.
I would not trade or stop what we are doing: traveling, teaching, volunteering, because that, also, creates depth and sparkle in a different, and equally important, aspect of self. However, our middle girl was promised a pony at age 10 and thus far, she has not forgotten. So, I think-- next year and the year after we'll be on the move, then, I think. . . The Nancy Place will be calling us home.