Twenty years ago my husband and I bought this land and built a homestead. It was challenging and fun to cut down trees and dig up a garden, milk a cow and build a chicken coop. We had oil lamps and one vehicle, and were able to pay all our bills.
As more children came, we built a bigger house with more conveniences, so that we didn’t have to heat water on the stove for washing dishes and taking bathes, and had electricity to run lights and a washer. It became harder to pay the bills, however, with added cell service and internet, and an additional car. While getting garden work done while living in the cabin meant making sure the baby was asleep in a carrier and the 3yo had enough snacks and toys to occupy him for a little in the garden, the kids are now completely self-occupied their own constructed entertainments and devices.
What did I think the end game was while in the cabin? I think I thought I’d get it figured out – that I would make cheese that we could eat, and grow and store food for the winter. That there’d be a time when there was more time, when we were done building and struggling. That maybe we’d go hike and camp and travel.
But the end game has been one of quiet loneliness. Of settling to the point of feeling trapped. Of work that lost a sense of accomplishment, and became monotonous maintenance. Of realizing that you haven’t laughed in a very long time. That you’re bored to death. That you bore yourself to death. Of wondering what became of yourself – what is it that you do for fun when you’re not working? There’s just the f*cking peace and quiet of a homestead that requires constant work. And with it, wondering if, without your own income and own independence, your voice will continue to be lost in the constant talk of those around you.
The enforced Covid-19 quarantine has been a return to this quiet isolation, and my biggest fear is that after it’s all done, nothing will be different. But things need to change, and I’m also scared of being so settled that nothing changes. Bare with me while I use writing to find my way forward, to help me to find peace with where I’ve been, understand who I am, and become who I need to be.
So that’s my New Year’s challenge for myself. To put myself in the way of discomfort, to unsettle myself, indeed, to throw myself out there, imperfect, unpolished, not knowing where I’m going or what I’m doing – and to do it anyway.
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