Busy Hands Homestead

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 trying to spend as much time in the studio as possible.  (Does that explain the lack of blog posts? It should.) I have week or two until Adam is back at work and I no longer have the luxury of spending long day time hours at the studio.  I feel like I am constantly behind.  The list of things I want to make never getting shorter...  but a few nights ago I trudged through the snow carrying a backpack with a tripod and a camera and a giant box of mugs and bowls.  I had attempted to drive down the road to The Clay Studio of Missoula and promptly got stuck.  After a few tried I got unstuck and I parked on a main road that was getting plowed and walked.  My arms ached by the time I got inside. First learning how to use the wonderful camera I borrowed and then moving one piece at a time through three small boxes of new work. I snapped pictures for hours. By the time I was done, there were eight additional powdery inches of snow on the ...

"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...