Busy Hands Homestead

Every morning I make a list of three things that made me happy the day before. A practice I started when life became crazy - and that was a while ago - years ago. Little things: walks, dinner, kid crafts, baking bread, flowers opening, bathing, sleeping in, having a shower to shower in. Time is tracked in lists. April - The numbers of eggs our chickens lay per day.  What is the average?  (3.6) What is the MAD (mean absolute deviation)? (.706) What is the normal range? (2.89 - 4.3) May - The wild flowers we see on hikes. The birds we mange to identify. Time moves fast, slow, doesn't exist at all. Adam dates a check the 8th.  "Where have you been", I say. "Today is the 15th." Time is tracked in shopping lists and meal plans . Ivory pours over recipes for cookies, candies and desserts.  She creates excuses to makes sweets and delivers them to neighbors: toffee, gummies, french macrons.  I discover wishful items added to my shopping:  ...

Since we arrived home, nearly midnight, on the fourth of July, our days have been full. Our days have been brimming, no, over flowing with activity.  The weeds were all pulled to reveal little rows of seeds that sprouted in my absence. Kale has been coming into my kitchen by the arm full. Onions are being pulled. We had our first cucumber, followed quickly by many more. Zucchini, Chard, Eggplant, Purple Beans and Snap Peas, Mint, Parsley, Rhubarb, Strawberries, Blueberries and Currants move from garden to plate and sometimes just straight from plant to mouth.  Our hens, which were little more than awkward, gangly adolescents, are now shiny and proud. We check the coop every so often for that very first egg.  Will it be brown? Blue? There are berries to harvest.  And a sink full of strawberries fills our house with a sweet fragrance as they simmer in the process of becoming strawberry syrup and butter.   ...

I have been wanting to make homemade pop-tarts for what seems like an eternity. There is nothing like being confined by freezing wind and driving snow to bring out the baker in me.  "Lets warm up the kitchen and make pop-tarts." To this Ivory promptly responded: "What are pop-tarts?" To this moment it had never occurred to me that she has not experienced a pop-tart, which means that I have no pressure to meet the expectations set by the pop-tarts sold on grocery store shelves. So we started mixing, rolling and cutting. We spread filling into the center of the hears: strawberry butter I canned last summer, slowly caramelized apples that were a bit mealy for eating out of hand and finally a dark purple plum butter that is a reminder of the last warm sunny days of fall.    While snow piled up outside, we ate warm pop-tarts with a side of scrambled eggs and a good strong cup of coffee for breakfast.  It was delicious. To be honest, I don't ...

A gift arrived in this giant box....  and the box is just as awesome as the new sleds.  While Adam took the kids on a cold and windy sled ride. I finally finished our present for Sylvan...  and yes, it is late, very late!   Here is his very own fort kit.  At dinner every night Sylvan takes one look at his food and screams: "I don't like that!  I don't like that food!  I don't like that!"  The rest of the family is almost done before he takes his first bite of his pinto bean, onion, spaghetti squash and cheese quesadilla...  and....  a big grin spreads across his face.  He does like the food.  As a reward for trying his first bite Sylvan snapped this picture of his sister.  (She ate all her food, and half of his.)

I actually managed to mail out Valentines on time - last year .    I think it might have been a fluke...   This year, like most years, I am behind.  There are neat rows of heart shaped bird seed cakes sitting in my dehydrator - waiting to be shipped to loved ones across the country.  We will get them mailed eventually.  Just making the cards and bird seed cakes for Ivory's kindergarten class took a dedicated session of card writing after school each day - and she cut and wrote and decorated each card on her own, diligently crossing off each of the twenty names on the list.  The night before we stuffed them into Ziploc bags and I added a cautionary DO NOT EAT tag.  This treat is for the birds.   The morning of, Ivory asked to be woken up early, so that I could French braid her hair into... .... the shape of a heart. Ivory: "oh. Mama.  You are bringing Vegetables to my Valentine's Day Party?" Ad...

Our snowman is buried in a fresh layer of snow.  The view from our neighborhood sledding hill.  Adam and Sylvan heading down the hill.  Going, going... ... gone.  Snow ice cream in front of the furnace.  After our fingers and toes warmed up, we got an early start on valentines for Ivory's class mates.  Heart shaped bird seed cakes, ready to be hung in branches, on porches or in front of windows. Our Sunday in Snapshots. 

"I am sorry, I can't help", she says sliding my tax forms across the table. I don't remember if she wore glasses, but if she, did she would have been looking at me above the rims. "What is it that you do again?" I wince and opt to believe that the condescending tone was only in my imagination. Sylvan is sitting on my lap. "I am a mom", I say embarrassed.  Was I blushing?  I scrape a bit of dried clay off of my fleece, " I do lots of things." I am between day one and two of three days in the kindergarten classrooms at my daughter's elementary school.  I had spent the last two nights in the studio rolling out clay slabs until the wee hours of the morning. What do I do? I am a non-entity on a tax return.  I don't exist.  I am invisible. I do things. The thoughts run through my head. I am productive. I consider myself a valued member of my community.  Really. I smile. "Well.  Thanks for taking time out of your day t...