A simple sunday

I’m having a domestic Sunday, just staying inside tending to laundry, vacuuming up dog hair, dead flies and clearing the dust away from last week. Linda and I had a very nice time at the Woody Guthrie Folk Festival yesterday, saw some wonderful musicians. We spent some time at Grape Ranch winery and had an all around wonderful day. Nate and Kathleen ran the market booth on their own and Kathleen did the evening milking for me so we could stay out late and we did, got home past 11pm! Whew doggie!

It’s nice to take some time off the farm, have a little fun, but I’m always happy to return. I’m always happy to sit in my kitchen with a glass of cold goat milk and watch the farm do its farmy thing. I love this life and I miss it even when I’m gone for a day trip, and in some way that in itself brings me comfort. I’m over worked and underpaid that’s just a given, I’m trying to manage my scale and my time but at no time in my life have I felt such bliss. I’m in love.

There are times that it hits me, like when I’m on the tractor pulling a school bus full of chickens that I’m not the person I was in Seattle, not by a long shot. I’m not the city girl anymore I’m not the wine snob either. I’m much easier to please that’s for sure and that’s worth something in my book. I’ve become a simpler person, grateful for most everything I have. But there are times I reminisce about my old life of dust and dirt free living, my blue Volvo, my house by the lake, late morning walks in the park with the dogs, coffee shops, taco trucks, $40.00 bargain wines, trips to Sicily, hot tub mornings with my coffee, weekly massages, yoga classes three times a week. I know, icky. No really I would be lying if I told you I didn’t miss it at times. Things happened, life changed and I changed. If I went back to that life now I would be miserable. I was driven but I wasn’t blissful. I was in most ways successful but I wasn’t in a pastoral stupor driven by the perfect image in my head of making ones way in faming.

Then, I took pleasure in reviews and write ups, busy nights at the restaurant and late evenings eating crab with black beans sauce at Sea Garden, all beautiful to me then. Now I take pleasure in dripping whey from the bag of fresh chevre, kissing my goats cheeks as I say goodnight, strumming my guitar, hanging laundry on the line, canning, raising my own meat and growing my own vegetables. My favorite sound is the milk hitting the side of the pail. I take pleasure in the pastoral idea. I see the pastoral life as some might see heaven. I don’t know if either exist but I keep the fire going anyway and at times I feel like I’m there, and other times I couldn’t be farther from it.

So on this Sunday I take refuge from the oppressive heat and listen to the washer trudging away at the filthy cloths now in it, the sheets on the line will be dry in 15 minutes, and Jalapeños are ready to be put up. Linda has started bread and apple pie and soon I’ll toss scratch to the chickens, gather eggs, feed hay and milk the goats. I’ll make a nice simple dinner of eggplant and squash, green beans and potatoes. After diner I’ll read till I can’t keep my eyes open and I’ll sleep until the alarm goes off at 5am. I won’t be a cent richer or a hair taller.