Oh, if the hipsters could see me now.

They know what they are doing.

I warned a couple people that living out here in Bangs fulltime would make me sappy and joyful in a completely unironic way.

The snark has almost boiled off me completely. I find this frightening. What is going on?

I had no idea how unmotivated, uninspired and downright depressed I had been in my office gig until I no longer had—well, a job. Or an employer. I think everybody should quit working outside the home. It is really invigorating.

First of all, I am experiencing Tasmanian-devil levels of energy. There is no part of the day or the week that I dread. I am kind of a negative person, so believe me, I have scrounged for SOMETHING to be bitter about, but the damn blissful days just keep on coming. It is absolutely ridiculous. Maybe I can be mad that my life lacks strife. This weather sure isn’t helping.

I was away on a canning extravaganza one night, and Seth found himself alone in the yard eating a watermelon out of the garden. For a while he wondered how he would explain to me or any other human on the planet how perfect the watermelon tasted and how idyllic the moment was.

He joked later that he sort of panicked when he realized that he would never be able to adequately share the experience.

That’s kind of how I am feeling right now. No one is ever going to get it. I’m a failed scribe.

I don’t really know why my body is reacting this way. I mean, I liked my writing gig. I still want to dabble in it. I just … I don’t know. Maybe this homesteading thing just suits me right now.

Produce Auction field trip as captured by Gravel Road Photography

Most of my joy comes from thinking about food. Of making it, growing it, preserving it. Of coming home to bloody goats in the driveway and tending to them. Of slapping my piggies on the butt to greet them every morning.  Of pulling lunch from the garden.  And alongside all this, I have three little girls with me during the day to watch and learn. It is a blessing to witness them take in the world.

The girls are at a perfect age right now: Molly is 21 months old tomorrow, and Alivia, her BFF, is 18 months. They do not yet fight or say “No!” or throw temper tantrums (for the most part anyway.) They are just little balls of wonder who follow each other around like reflections.

For at least 20 minutes last week, one of them would put a hand on her own head, and the other would do the same. When one of them would take a hand off, the other would follow, and then they would just crack up over it. And they were both completely sober!

There is a very short period of time in one’s life when putting your hand on your own head and then watching someone else do the same is completely hilarious. These moments are precious. The need to be observed.

And rounding out the mix is little Eleanor, who is just starting to notice the hijinks, and she is usually army crawling her way over to smile with those dimples of hers. She and I laugh at them, too. A lot. Every day.

Eleanor wishes I would talk more about carrots on my blog.

I understand not every week will be blissful. Winter will come, and it will be more of a challenge to stay on this parcel of land. But right now I am willing to believe that this will last forever.

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  • http://www.houndsinthekitchen.com Rachel Tayse

    I totally get it. I try to wrap up the idyllic satisfied feelings for when the ‘am I really mopping the floor AGAIN, can’t anyone keep their feet clean around here’ stress hits. Happy homesteading!

    • http://andshebangs.com lyndseyteter@gmail.com

      There is def a correlation between the number of Cheerios I sweep up in one day and the minutes I have to stand outside and pat my goats in the evening.

  • Alicia

    believe it.  i’m happy for you.