Do More, Fail More, Fear Less

January 18, 2021

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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Fight Distraction, Go Do Something Fun

July 18, 2020

You know, it’s one of those things. I have never assumed that the stuff I like, others might like, too. Always too weird, too quirky, too…something. The patterns seen from above with a drone, for example, are way cool. Patterns like quilts, man-made, unseen. I kinda thought others thought straight-down was disconcerting, or hard to discern, so I’ve tried to photograph at more of an angle, more like a landscape. The arrogance of an artist, to think you’re strange and have nothing to offer except to yourself, because you look around and, very seldom, see a reflection of yourself.

And yet, here’s a bunch of cool drone photographs, of Vermont, in The New York Times: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/13/travel/vermont-drone-photographs.html

Hope you all are keeping yourselves entertained in isolation. Frankly, I have to believe all this introspection may be good for the soul – just being stuck where the shit hits the fan – with no way to escape into “busy-ness.”

I’m building towards where I want to be, who I want to be. Sometimes not moving fast enough, sometimes feeling like I’m not moving at all. Yearning for distraction, yearning for connection, fighting my phone like it’s a drug. And then other days, like yesterday, I ride for hours, and stop to fly my drone. Reminding myself what is real – learning that all my distractions don’t equal even the drone shot un-gotten because loss of charge.

Hello World

March 31, 2020

The world is a bit different from when this photo was taken a month ago. Spring is slowly returning to Vermont – endless days that are 40°F and raining, interspersed with too few days that are warm and sunny. Green shoots of daffodils are pushing up – they’ll be blooming by the end of April.

Hopefully I will be, also. My goal for this spring was to not be here. Last spring was too endless. My hope was to plan an epic motorcycle trip that would take me far away to the south where it would be warmer. To extend my short riding season by removing myself to warmer climes, and then return to a warm Vermont.

The invasion of the coronavirus has changed all that, even making the school bus in the photo a thing of the recent past. My bike still isn’t all back together and running yet, but given the seemingly open and endless timeline, now I’m making plans to change this and that, as well as get it running. Because life can be epic once the virus is over.
But life doesn’t, can’t, stop just because we are stuck in one place. We need to continue to build and grow, so that we are ready for what comes next. And hence, my plans for a blog. To get my voice out. To build something when I can’t actually go anywhere.

I’ve been recreating my life over the past several years after settling into a life that “fit,” but wasn’t quite right. I lost myself somewhere along my journey as wife, homesteader, and mother, to the point where my spark was barely lit and I was struggling to breathe. My weird, creative, adventurous self felt stuck in a world of crafts, knitting, chickens, and tea, and I found I was settling for what was around me instead of creating the life I wanted to live. Settling is easy, like falling into a deep sleep. Creating something new is hard. I don’t know where this is going, or where I’m going, but I hope you’ll join me for the journey. I’m planning to make it epic.