(no subject)
I never would have envisioned my life like this. I stay at home on days that I don't substitute. I write. I observe the garden, and then I go back to writing. I keep house and make homemade croutons. I'm going to look up how you can dry your own herbs later on today, so I can dry my extra oregano, marjoram, rosemary and thyme to make Italian Seasoning, which I can give as a gift. I'm one crocheted dog sweater away from becoming Martha.
This type of life is horribly appealing to me. I'm considering starting a gardening blog where I can document the seasons and the recipes that go along with each changing crop. I walk outside in between breaks of writing and stare at the ground, looking for growth, for weeds, for bugs. I stare at the bees that drink of our bolting broccoli's nectar and am amazed at how the pollen fills up their legs. I keep my eyes peeled for color and come up a hidden strawberry that's just starting to turn. I cannot express why digging up potatoes is so exciting or why I think that a purple potato freshly unearthed is unbelievably beautiful, but all of a sudden, I've stumbled upon a life where that's how it is.
I dream about having a co-op, where Kevin and I could make money from this thing. I think about chickens and the wonders of fresh eggs (have you ever seen farm fresh eggs? They're gorgeous!). Less than ten years ago I was in high school, dreaming about living in New York City and making films, and now I dream of a place where I can write and have a small farm. I photograph vegetables now instead of trash in the city.
Today, I will continue working on my novel, a big heap of a scary mess. After that, I will go outside and water the newly planted peas, make sure the seeds that I planted this weekend of tomatoes, squash and peppers are still moist, and monitor the progress of the blackberry bush's regrowth. Tonight I will make a fresh batch of croutons, using herbs from the garden, and make pasta with freshly picked mustard greens.
This type of life is horribly appealing to me. I'm considering starting a gardening blog where I can document the seasons and the recipes that go along with each changing crop. I walk outside in between breaks of writing and stare at the ground, looking for growth, for weeds, for bugs. I stare at the bees that drink of our bolting broccoli's nectar and am amazed at how the pollen fills up their legs. I keep my eyes peeled for color and come up a hidden strawberry that's just starting to turn. I cannot express why digging up potatoes is so exciting or why I think that a purple potato freshly unearthed is unbelievably beautiful, but all of a sudden, I've stumbled upon a life where that's how it is.
I dream about having a co-op, where Kevin and I could make money from this thing. I think about chickens and the wonders of fresh eggs (have you ever seen farm fresh eggs? They're gorgeous!). Less than ten years ago I was in high school, dreaming about living in New York City and making films, and now I dream of a place where I can write and have a small farm. I photograph vegetables now instead of trash in the city.
Today, I will continue working on my novel, a big heap of a scary mess. After that, I will go outside and water the newly planted peas, make sure the seeds that I planted this weekend of tomatoes, squash and peppers are still moist, and monitor the progress of the blackberry bush's regrowth. Tonight I will make a fresh batch of croutons, using herbs from the garden, and make pasta with freshly picked mustard greens.