Yesterday was my birthday. I am officially in my mid-thirties. As a birthday gift to myself, I am buckling down and working on my health for the next month. I have been 80/20 paleo for a long time, but lately I have been slipping, and my health has suffered a bit as a result. Looking in the mirror the other day, I noticed how much the shape of my arms has changed as a result of the testosterone. But the rest of me - not so much. I'm at an age that no longer allows a poor diet or sedentary lifestyle. Time to get moving.
My diet isn't terrible. I eat healthy fats, meat, eggs, and dairy, all from pastured animals. There are far more vegetables in my diet than the average American eats. But I still consume far more sourdough bread than I should, and I've been known to have a pizza and beer night now and then. So for the next month, I'll be detoxing with the Whole30 plan. It's a more-paleo-than-paleo, 100% clean eating diet, for 30 days. I'll be modifying it in just one way - by adding pastured raw dairy, which I tolerate just fine. I have a bit of weight to lose, and I'm hoping Whole30 will help with that. It should also improve my health in general.
In addition to losing a few pounds, I need to work on building muscle and improving my endurance. To that end, I'll be starting the Mutu System, doing some extra push-ups and dips, and walking at least a half hour a day. I'd like to run again, but I'll have to wait and see how my ankles and knees tolerate the walking first.
So, let's call this day one. I'll be using this blog for accountability.
Breakfast: two cups greens beans, one cup chicken, sauteed in lard. Black coffee.
Lunch: large salad with crumbled raw milk cheese, evoo, and balsamic vinegar. A few swigs of unflavored full fat kefir.
Dinner: stir-fry of golden beets, garlic scapes, beet greens, and sausage.
I've done some push-ups, gone for my daily walk, and am about to do my nightly Mutu.
So far so good.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
8.7.14
The season of action is upon us. My day starts early, with coffee, sauteed greens, and fresh eggs for breakfast. The dog is walked, the chickens let out to roam, Junebug changed and dressed, and my chores prioritized. We've pledged, now that we're able, to eat 90% local. So every day during this season, canning is on the list of daily work. So far this year we have put up the following: 5 pints pickled asparagus, 8 quarts chicken stock (from pastured chickens purchased from a farm down the road), 6 pints zucchini relish, 5 pints strawberry rhubarb pie filling, and 14 half pints strawberry rhubarb jam. We also have a quart of lacto-fermented wild leek bulbs in the fridge. The leeks, which we harvested in our own forest, should last us most of the summer if we eat them sparingly.
So, after breakfast, work continues. Clothes need to be washed by hand in a laundry tub and hung out to dry. Dishes need washing. Meals have to be made. The house needs cleaning, as does the chicken coop. Our Silver Grey Dorking chicks, still in their brooder, have to be fed, watered, and cleaned up after. A hundred other small tasks must be done. In between, Junebug keeps me endlessly busy.
After a dinner of baked chicken and vegetables, we took a walk together to the end of the road, to give the dog some exercise and drop off the recycling. Along the way I harvested a heaping quart of daylily buds, which will be on the menu tomorrow. We took note of the ripening wide raspberry patch, and picked a bouquet of black-eyed susans to brighten the kitchen.
The light is fading as I type. In the distance, the frogs are starting their songs while the many birds finish theirs. Junebug is happily playing in a puddle of rainwater, and in the distance I can hear Mutt on the tractor, clearing away some fallen trees. A day like this can make you forget about all the trials this life can cause, and remember only its simple pleasures.
So, after breakfast, work continues. Clothes need to be washed by hand in a laundry tub and hung out to dry. Dishes need washing. Meals have to be made. The house needs cleaning, as does the chicken coop. Our Silver Grey Dorking chicks, still in their brooder, have to be fed, watered, and cleaned up after. A hundred other small tasks must be done. In between, Junebug keeps me endlessly busy.
After a dinner of baked chicken and vegetables, we took a walk together to the end of the road, to give the dog some exercise and drop off the recycling. Along the way I harvested a heaping quart of daylily buds, which will be on the menu tomorrow. We took note of the ripening wide raspberry patch, and picked a bouquet of black-eyed susans to brighten the kitchen.
The light is fading as I type. In the distance, the frogs are starting their songs while the many birds finish theirs. Junebug is happily playing in a puddle of rainwater, and in the distance I can hear Mutt on the tractor, clearing away some fallen trees. A day like this can make you forget about all the trials this life can cause, and remember only its simple pleasures.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
It rains on Saturdays, too.
This morning, NPR ran a story about hospice care. They talked about the phenomenon of "life review", in which hospice patients and their loved ones feel the need to go over the details of their lives, telling their story from the beginning, over and over. Like someone staring death in the face, I find myself doing a daily life review lately. I go over the details in my head, starting in childhood and working forward. What decisions would I like to change, if I had the power to do so? How could I have done better, if I knew then what I know now? How did I get where I am, and become the person I am today? Do I even know who that person is?
The sad fact is, I don't. I have some vague idea of who he is not, but not of who he is. I know what he has done wrong, but not what he has done right. I have some idea of what he does not want for his life, but what he does want - what I want - is still largely a mystery.
Do we ever reach a point where we know, beyond a doubt, what we want to be when we grow up? When we can identify with clarity what will make us happy and fulfilled going forward? When we love ourselves, and those we have gathered around us, and all the holes in ours hearts are filled? How can we know? How can I know?
The chickens are scratching and pecking around the yard, as they always do. I am still watching, and wondering. Every day my questions seem bigger, and this little patch of earth seems smaller.
The sad fact is, I don't. I have some vague idea of who he is not, but not of who he is. I know what he has done wrong, but not what he has done right. I have some idea of what he does not want for his life, but what he does want - what I want - is still largely a mystery.
Do we ever reach a point where we know, beyond a doubt, what we want to be when we grow up? When we can identify with clarity what will make us happy and fulfilled going forward? When we love ourselves, and those we have gathered around us, and all the holes in ours hearts are filled? How can we know? How can I know?
The chickens are scratching and pecking around the yard, as they always do. I am still watching, and wondering. Every day my questions seem bigger, and this little patch of earth seems smaller.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Rainy days and Mondays
What is it about this place that highlights my aloneness in such blatant and uncomfortable ways? I've always considered myself to be a bit of a loner. Though I enjoy the company of friends and family, I highly value my privacy, and need to have a quiet place to retreat to when interactions become overwhelming. A room, an activity, or even just the quiet space in my own mind - time alone has always been essential to my emotional wellbeing. So why is it that here, in this place of beautiful solitude, surrounded by the majesty of nature devoid of humanity, I am so lonely I can hardly cope? What does it say about me that I need my solitude to be punctuated by the neighbor's dog barking, a car driving by, or a housemate puttering in the next room?
The chickens give me some small relief, at least. Their gentle clucking and occasional spats feel like the barely heard chatter of aunts in the kitchen, bickering over the best way to bake a pie. But caring for Junebug increases my feeling of being apart from the world. She is not yet old enough to be a real person with whom real conversation can take place. She is my love, my sweetest love, but as yet is a bundle of needs and cries and tasks to be done. Years from now I hope she and I will sit down for tea and the sharing of our deepest selves, but for now our morning ritual of Cheerios (her) and coffee (me) is less than satisfying on an emotional level.
Where is the balance in a life like this? I can turn on the radio for a human voice, but the voices never ask me about my day, or offer a shoulder when I need to cry. I could call someone, but battery power is as precious as their time, and I hate to waste either on my trifling need for company. I could walk to town, but it is miles away, and Junebug's need for the comfort of home trumps my need to watch the locals tramp through the gas station market, going about their business with not a friendly glance for the blue-haired queer boy in the corner.
Was this part of my homesteading dream? Was it in the package all along, and I studiously ignored it in the hope that I would find a community waiting with open and accepting arms? Where is there to go from here but back to my window, coffee in hand, lips silent, chickens clucking softly in the yard with no idea that I am gazing at them with open envy.
The chickens give me some small relief, at least. Their gentle clucking and occasional spats feel like the barely heard chatter of aunts in the kitchen, bickering over the best way to bake a pie. But caring for Junebug increases my feeling of being apart from the world. She is not yet old enough to be a real person with whom real conversation can take place. She is my love, my sweetest love, but as yet is a bundle of needs and cries and tasks to be done. Years from now I hope she and I will sit down for tea and the sharing of our deepest selves, but for now our morning ritual of Cheerios (her) and coffee (me) is less than satisfying on an emotional level.
Where is the balance in a life like this? I can turn on the radio for a human voice, but the voices never ask me about my day, or offer a shoulder when I need to cry. I could call someone, but battery power is as precious as their time, and I hate to waste either on my trifling need for company. I could walk to town, but it is miles away, and Junebug's need for the comfort of home trumps my need to watch the locals tramp through the gas station market, going about their business with not a friendly glance for the blue-haired queer boy in the corner.
Was this part of my homesteading dream? Was it in the package all along, and I studiously ignored it in the hope that I would find a community waiting with open and accepting arms? Where is there to go from here but back to my window, coffee in hand, lips silent, chickens clucking softly in the yard with no idea that I am gazing at them with open envy.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
The stuff of dreams.
Before we moved here, when we were living in a large city, I dreamed of days like this. Though the ground is still covered with snow, the weather is the warm and moist like early spring should be. It's warm enough here that I have left the front door hanging open, letting the scent of sun and budding trees and frosty mid fill the house. Classical guitar is pouring out of my radio. Junebug is standing at the open door, laughing at nothing in the way that toddlers do, and occasionally tossing toys onto the porch. In the distance, the chickens (who have started producing eggs, at long last) are clucking softly. The rooster is clucking right along with the, throwing in a hearty crow now and then for emphasis. Spring has arrived, bringing change and life and joy back to the land.
In just over a week, my own changes will begin in earnest. My medical evaluation is happening, really happening, after all these years. As the farm grows into its potential, so will I. I am excited. I am nervous. I an anxious to throw myself into the arms of.this beautiful year, and give it all I have to give.
In just over a week, my own changes will begin in earnest. My medical evaluation is happening, really happening, after all these years. As the farm grows into its potential, so will I. I am excited. I am nervous. I an anxious to throw myself into the arms of.this beautiful year, and give it all I have to give.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Little things
We have heat! On our second try (the first was too big) we have bought and installed a wall mounted propane heater (well, Mutt installed it), and it is wonderful! All we have to do is set it at 60, and let it work. The house stays warm all night, so I don't have to spend hours huddled by the woodstove in the morning, trying to get the fire going and the house warm. In the evenings, Mutt doesn't have to spend his few free hours hauling and chopping wood. Junebug doesn't have to stay bundled up all the time, which always made it so much harder for her to play (you try to hold a crayon while wearing mittens). Every bit of progress here makes such a big difference.
It's funny, though - I have conflicting feelings. Some of our reasons for coming here were to reduce our bills, provide for our own needs, and wean off fossil fuels. Our new heater is lovely, but it sends us backwards on all three goals. Is the convenience worth the trade-off? The heater is in, so the choice has been made, but I'm still not sure.
It's funny, though - I have conflicting feelings. Some of our reasons for coming here were to reduce our bills, provide for our own needs, and wean off fossil fuels. Our new heater is lovely, but it sends us backwards on all three goals. Is the convenience worth the trade-off? The heater is in, so the choice has been made, but I'm still not sure.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Spring Awakening
Though you'd never guess based on our land, spring is just around the corner. With it comes the awakening of our all the flora and fauna that share our home. The ground is still covered with snow, and the nights are well below freezing, but our wild neighbors are stirring, preparing for their re-entry into the world. Another spring, another year of hard work.
Finishing the house will be our main project this year. The winter has been hard on us, with some cold nights and difficult hikes. We have learned what needs to be done before cold weather returns, and will be spending the summer doing it. Insulation, wiring, lights, flooring, walls, heat, driveway and road building, and kitchen installation are just a small part of our summer projects. It's going to be a busy year, and it will all end up here. Stay tuned for more photos than anyone really wants to look through.
Finishing the house will be our main project this year. The winter has been hard on us, with some cold nights and difficult hikes. We have learned what needs to be done before cold weather returns, and will be spending the summer doing it. Insulation, wiring, lights, flooring, walls, heat, driveway and road building, and kitchen installation are just a small part of our summer projects. It's going to be a busy year, and it will all end up here. Stay tuned for more photos than anyone really wants to look through.
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