It’s March now, and as the snow blows horizontally outside my window, I’m cozied up in the corner of the sofa, having just wrapped up some client work, some homeschooling, and enjoying the afternoon’s mandatory quiet time: a time for intentional rest and replenishment.
Just like winter is supposed to be – intentional rest and replenishment.
The Saturday after Christmas, I saw a post from someone I follow on Instagram saying they were going to begin a pantry challenge, and asked who wanted to join along.
I had just spent the last couple of days in a bit of a daze, after the blizzard and septic failure, and when the last of the company had returned home, I looked – in total awe – at the copious amounts of leftover food in our fridge.
It was a great year. It was a grievous year. It was an excruciating and an endearing year. It was 2018.
The end of the year saw us hosting my extended family for Christmas, 21 people in all. I planned ahead, I had every detail accounted for, and for the first time in my hospitable adulthood life, I was not the least bit stressed about it.
It’s been just over a week since Farmer John passed away. I find myself thinking of things I need to ask him, or trying to remember to tell him something the next time I see him walking out to his shop… only to realize that won’t happen.
It’s been a little surreal. I’m in denial in a lot of ways – it simply doesn’t seem possible he passed away. We had too much to share with him. He had so much to help us with.
And yet day by day, I recount how long it has been since I last talked to him. Since the last time I saw him. Since his funeral.
When we moved here almost a year ago, there was a certain sense of excitement and freedom.
We had lived in #littleapartmentontheprairie for two-and-a-half years, which was two years longer than we had planned. Moving out of there, of course, brought it’s own degree of freedom, but there was a restlessness I wasn’t aware I had.
It wasn’t the Tuesday I was expecting. I put a hot dog in a ninja and mixed it up with some applesauce for a homemade remedy.
You see, I was doing some computer work from my outdoor office (read: patio table) when I heard an incredible commotion from the chickens. It sounded like they were under attack so I ran back to make sure they were all accounted for. Continue reading “Why I Put A Hot Dog In A Ninja”