Since purchasing our property, that we've named Far West, every weekend is now a work weekend. There's so much to do before we move out there, tree clearing being the highest on the list. We have a lot of Red Cedar, Honey Locust and Osage Orange trees (all of which are not good for shade or aesthetic) that need to go. So we've spent our weekends cutting down trees, dragging brush and stacking firewood. Hard work, to be sure.
I spent a large part of my growing up doing these same chores. When you live on five acres of heavily wooded land, there's always a tree to cut up and brush to drag and I hated doing it. I'm sure I whined and complained incessantly while dragging brush to the burn pile. I'm positive that I groaned and moaned while stacking split word and I'm certain that I was a veritable slug of a worker the entire time.
But something has happened to me. Now that it's my own property that needs work, the dragging and stacking doesn't seem to be as much of a chore. I even look forward to these work weekends, even though we all come home filthy and bone-wearily tired.
My brother commented to my mother, the other day, that he can't believe that I want to move back to the country, that he never expected that I would own chickens and rabbits.
Last night, I gifted a dozen of my most beautiful, rainbow-hued, eggs to my aunt and uncle that got me started with my chickens. I was so pleased to have my hens in "full production mode" as my uncle says, that I needed to share it with someone that I knew would understand. They appropriately ooh'd and ah'd over my blue, olive, pink and chocolate brown eggs and I was filled with a satisfaction that I don't often feel in this modern world. It was part creation and pride, with a healthy dose of manual work. I gave something, of real value, to people I care about. I made something that was more than money. I gave back something sustainable and real.
I have friends (and family) that don't understand what we want to do, out at Far West. People often cringe when we tell them we are raising meat rabbits and some friends have called me cruel. People want to know why "we can't just buy our eggs at the store, like everyone else"? They don't understand our desire to create something sustainable. And maybe I don't either! I just know that, when I step foot on our farm, I relax. When I gather eggs and listen to "my girls" cluck and fret, I smile and when I hold a tiny rabbit, that will one day feed my family, I become thankful for a lifestyle that I never knew I needed, let alone wanted.
- The Mommy
- Podunk, Kansas
- Hi and welcome to my blog. "Because I'm..." is the story of how I balance life with multiple children with multiple diagnoses: autism, bi-polar, learning disabilities and pissy attitudes to name a few, a burgeoning urban farmstead, and budding photography career. Yeah, it's all coming up crazy 'round here!
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