The homestead life evokes
in the moment
It is work. It is the work of the hands and mind. The hands do their thing, setting pea fences and placing trees in the orchard, clearing rocks and weeds for grass seed and white clover. The mind listens eagerly for ideas to companion plant and sifts through seed magazines and Pinterest boards. The mind plans new garden beds and sequences spring’s projects.
It is caretaking. The orchard needs clover and calendula. The comphrey wildly spreads, then will be cut for garden feed. It is nurturing the blank, god made canvas. There are more greens to be added, green hosta, green dogwoods, green ferns. There are blue lilacs and purple lavender, red dogwoods and yellow calendula, pink echinacea and orange poppies. Walk the garden with gloves and a pail to rid new weeds so the colours will grow.
It is survival. There is a fight of man against nature, shoveling a hundred feet of walkway to clump through three feet high snow up to the car. There are deer pathways to study and height of deer fence to be decided, bells and whistles and flashing red lights to install around the yard. There are boulders to be removed, or blasted, from the mountain ground. There are trees to clear from windy storms and to fell without dropping on the house.
It is nourishing. There is strawberry rhubarb jam in the middle of winter, and lettuces growing in cold frames as the dirty snow still covers the ground. There are plantains and dandelion heads to make into tea and salve. Wild strawberries and thimbleberries to forage. Cans must be water bathed to house dilled carrots that decorate window sills. There is hard work, done with rough hands and dirty fingernails, but creative soul satisfaction at the end of each day.