Posts from the “Sustainable Life” Category

Sick chicken update

Posted on September 14, 2018

It’s been a few weeks since one of the chickens fell sick.  Seth and I noticed that she was sitting on the ground all of the time, either unable or unwilling to move around all that much.  She got herself from the henhouse to the feeder in the mornings, and back again at night. Once it became clear that she wasn’t doing so hot, we isolated her in the spare bunny hutch and christened her Buttercup.  Because after all, you can’t call an animal Sick Chicken all the time and expect her to get better.  As one of the animal-feeding volunteers said, “Let’s put that good energy out into the universe!” Buttercup couldn’t walk without propping herself up using her wings on the ground. It…

Home is best

Posted on September 1, 2018

I guess we planned our August a little too well because we were away nearly every weekend.  We went to see a dear friend in Maine for three nights in the beginning of August.  The following weekend we spent our day off at a family reunion in Connecticut, and then the third weekend we went to Martha’s Vineyard to see another friend for a whirlwind visit and tour of beautiful scenery.  This weekend we’re making yet another visit.  And while I feel blessed to have friends and family who want to see us, it’s definitely taking a toll.  All three of us have come down with a head cold of the drippy sort, and all at the same time.  Normally it’s staggered a little…

Catching up

Posted on July 11, 2018

It was winter, the last time I wrote, and now summer’s in full swing. It was 91° today. Yesterday morning I had to fill 5-gallon buckets with water and lug them out to the gardens for some of the more tender plants I’m growing. We don’t have irrigation yet in my gardens, but it’s coming. I’ll be glad once it arrives.

I haven’t much felt like writing here, to be honest. I’ve been working on some fiction, which is my true writing love, or rather I was working on some fiction right up until the point that our dear dog Lily died. She was hit by a car. It was very quick, though its effects have lingered long in our hearts. It was one of those most likely preventable, totally unforeseen accidents, and we cried time and time again thinking that if we had changed just one thing that day, she would still be with us. I’m told that’s the way it goes with all accidents where you lose a loved one. We’re still feeling the aftershocks, though of course it’s much easier a few months on. And really this blog post is not about Lily, good girl that she was.

Summer living on a community farm is much different than summer just working on a farm. There are lots of people around all the time: workers, volunteers, kids making projects, CSA members with questions and vegetables. Usually all in one day. I like it. It makes me think about Memere and how her brothers and sisters were always dropping in. But we have quiet days too, and there are quiet spots on the farm even on busy days. It makes for a nice change from living in the tiny house, when every visitor carried a risk of bringing the building inspector down on us.

I hang out a lot with the goats. I read about them and spend time thinking about how to make their living situations more comfortable. I bought a book on herbal medicine for farm animals and that’s always in the back of my mind too. One of Seth’s workers tells me that my band name is “Christine and the Goats” because I’m always talking about them or walking with them, giving them a stretch of the legs and a run on some tasty weeds. Well! There are certainly weirder band names.

Addie is in the stage where she wants to help with everything. She helps with the dishes, with animal feeding, with laundry folding, with flushing the toilet. My mom taught her to say “Bye, pee-pees!” the last time we visited. So I hear that regularly. And I had to fish a roll of toilet paper out of the toilet one day last week because Addie’s all about the toilet too. It’s such an endearing, aggravating, adorable stage, this helping thing. And when I’m not tripping over the unfolded clean clothes on the floor again, I’m thanking my lucky stars that I’m home with this baby. Yes, I’d guess that my days are half sighing in frustration, half laughing in thanks. Some days one more than the other.

There’s been a bit of crafting tucked in between everything else. I finished up a knitted wool cowl for my mom, and gave it to her on the hottest day of the year. As you do. And one of my friends just got back from a trip to Iceland with four skeins of Lopi yarn tucked in their suitcase for me, so that’s next on my plate.

It’s funny how even after all these words, this blog post doesn’t manage to touch the depth of what I’m doing. It doesn’t convey the evenings spent weeding with the dirt splashing over my wrists and the sweat dripping down under my hatband. Or the flush of pleasure from hearing someone talk about their chickens with a slightly apologetic look on their face, only for them to realize that I’m a chicken and goat lady too. Or the gut punch of losing one of the farm’s animals during the heat wave last week in another most likely preventable, unforeseen accident. Or the joy of connecting with herb folks at a conference, and setting up my own herb classes later this summer. These are just words. And I’m happy to write them, but I’m even happier to live them (except for the death. I could do without more of that this year).

It’s this: The words here are not enough. Or conversely, maybe the words here are just enough. Maybe they are the finishing touch on what is turning out to be a full season, so rich that it overflows the boundaries and spills onto the virtual page. I wish I could share with you the thrilled, exhausted feeling I feel at dusk when I stand up straight, stretching my back. The air is balmy and my skin is gritty. There’s time for a handful of blackberries before coming in to wash the dust off my feet. But all I have are these words, and the occasional picture of the goats.


Posted on February 22, 2018

It was 71 degrees here yesterday, sunny and mild and springlike a good two months early. I felt the blood moving in my veins. I know Seth felt it too because when I came upon him and our assistant farm manager at lunchtime, Seth was full of giddy humor, in his t-shirt, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in his happiness to be outside. I love early Spring warmth. It makes me feel like cleaning out my closets — although admittedly, it doesn’t take much to make me want to clean things out. I tried a bit of knitting in the afternoon and though the yarn was fine and smooth beneath my fingers, my heart wasn’t in it. I wanted dirt in…

Late winter

Posted on February 16, 2018

Goodness, late winter on a farm is an ungraceful time of year what with slushy mud puddles, dirt-crusted snow berms, and bare trees.  Our main color right now comes from the seed catalogs piling up in the farm office, and in our imaginations as we plan out the flowers, vegetables, and herbs that we’ll grow this year. Every morning when I feed the animals, crunching along icy paths, I try to picture the farm from an outsider’s eyes and the words “undeniably glum” pop into my head. It certainly doesn’t look promising as you drive by, but Seth and I know the land holds growth soon to come. It’s not quite mud season, messy harbinger of spring, more like mud season’s mud season. Thaw, maybe? Whatever it’s called, it’s a bit more time to prepare.

We’ve moved into the little one bedroom apartment that comes with our new farm.  We’re still sourcing some furniture, as we got rid of most of it when we moved into the tiny house, and we’re also sourcing farm crew (I use “we” loosely here, I’m an unpaid enthusiast), so maybe that’s why I keep looking at the land and house with fresh eyes.  I see so much to do, so much to grow and to update.  So much to hope for.

I’ve been learning about feng shui these last few weeks. The transfer of energy from house to person.  Houses hold cell memories, I feel, just the same way plants do, the way our bodies do and that’s why you hear of organ transplant recipients after surgery suddenly liking the same things their donor liked.  Houses are the same, except the house influences the people.  I like to think about creating flows of energy that feel good for me and for the people who live and work here.  I have no big changes, nothing mystical to report.  Just thinking, thinking as usual.

In all of this, a very dear-to-me man died this week: my great uncle, Uncle Bubba. It’s not quite right to call him a surrogate grandfather. We were friends and family together, unrelated except by marriage, and we didn’t often speak in person. However, I wrote him a letter every week or so for the past 6-ish years. How do you describe a person who has been in your thoughts so consistently? Beats me, all I have is emotion. And typically I withdraw into myself when I’m feeling low, but I don’t want to do that right now, for the most part. I have that fleeting clarity that comes with the loss of a loved one: What am I doing with my life? What do I need to do to feel full? Is it worth writing letters about?

Uncle Bubba was a good man, ready with jokes and stories. To his last day he was devoted to his wife of 59 years, though she passed away in 2014. I believe they were true best friends and partners. Bubba loved music and woodworking and ice cream, and he had room in his heart for a bond with a wayward great-niece, though he had kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids of his own, and though I’m one of maybe a hundred cousins (I think. Mom, help me out here?).

Seth and I have a Bubba of our own. It’s Addie’s nickname, and when the two Bubbas met over Christmas, I held my tiny human up to Uncle’s bed. The older Bubba observed to the younger, “You’re on your way in and I’m on my way out.” It was true of course, he had been declining steadily for more than a year. But it didn’t stop me from saying, “Oh no, Bubba, not for a while yet.” I wasn’t trying to give him false hope. Just pleading with him to stay for a while longer. Perhaps it would have been better to acknowledge it, or to have said, “Maybe, but you’ll never be out of our hearts.” Still, the heart doesn’t always know what to say at the prospect of imminent loss, and anyway Uncle Bubba gave me a small smile in response.

I like to think that we understood a great many things about each other, though really I don’t know a lot of what he thought. His letters were few and far between; Parkinson’s made it difficult to write. But he was a master conversationalist and excelled at making me feel at home when we talked. I will miss his steady presence in my life.

It’s late winter now, and I have a compost bin to build and a flower plot to plan. There are perennial herbs that need a new garden space — somewhere, I’m not quite sure where. I still have goats and rabbits to feed. And in spite of moving out of a tiny house, I have a load of things to declutter and organize. Natural ebbs and flows I guess, as winter draws to a close and growing season comes around again.

The homemade gift roundup

Posted on January 19, 2018

Now that we’re well beyond the winter holidays and I (gulp) finally finished all of the homemade gifts, I can write about them here. It’s an accomplishment to have made at least one thing for every person on my list, I remind myself whenever I get down to crunch time and I’m frantically weaving in ends or whatever. And if you don’t think you can frantically weave ends, then you should hang around a knitter the day before a holiday gathering. Somehow, despite my best planning, there is always some project undone at the last minute. First up, the hats. I knitted eight hats for my eight nieces and nephews for Christmas. Did I take pictures? No, of course not. I forgot before I…

Spoons up! revisited

Posted on January 8, 2018

Well it’s taken a while, but I finally pulled together the pattern for Spoons up! revisited, the knitted wrist warmers that I was working on last year.  I was hoping to knit up some samples in a local farm yarn, but I had to set that dream aside once the baby started getting mobile, and it never happened.  The perfect is the enemy of the good, you know?  These bad boys are knit in fingering weight yarn, with a gauge of 6 stitches to the inch, and they are warm and cozy.  I had a good time coming up with this pattern, which you can download here: Spoons Up 2.  And here is the link to the Ravelry page.  Enjoy!  

Magic of the season

Posted on December 12, 2017

This is the first holiday season in a long time that Seth and I have had more than the bare minimum of cheer. We didn’t have strong traditions between the two of us, and anyway as two childless adults we felt there was no point setting up the miniature village on the back of the piano (figuratively, of course. There’s no piano in the tiny house). But now — oh, now! — this baby changes everything. She’ll be a year old this month. That’s old enough to want to instill some magic into the next few weeks. We’ve started putting up solstice decorations, and there’s a pile of presents accumulating. More than once Seth has come home to find some project scattered over the…

Holiday making

Posted on December 2, 2017

I’ve got a bunch of crafting going on here, but since most of it is for the people who read this blog, it’s going to remain a mystery. But it’s happening! I’ve picked up my needles once again and invested in some lovely yarn. Of course, a little bit of the yarn is for me. An early solstice present. Ok, it’s a lot of yarn for me. I couldn’t resist. Addie features prominently in my holiday crafting, except I haven’t started anything for her yet, hoping to knock some of the other presents off my to do list. I’m planning on a double layer hat in this red wool and whatever matching scraps I have, and then a little vest to keep her core…

With gratitude

Posted on November 23, 2017

To my U.S. friends, family, and readers who celebrate it, happy Thanksgiving! This is one of the holidays we honor, and it is especially timely for farmers who are wrapping up the growing season. It’s nice to have one last hurrah before the dark of winter. The final CSA pickup and farmers market are bursting with fall and storage crops: cabbage, kale, potatoes, onions, squash. Time to cook good things and sit together in anticipation of a season of rest. Preferably with post-dinner knitting in hand. Thanksgiving has some troubling origins that I think it’s important to acknowledge too. Native Americans in New England call this the Day of Mourning, and there is an annual gathering on the site of Plymouth Rock in protest…