from city to pasture. again.

Today was my first day post-having a job in the city.

I savoured my time out of traffic, out of my (great but still a car) yaris, out of the bustle and the anxious rushing. Savoured drinking coffee out of beloved ceramic instead of metal to-go mugs.

 

 

I seeded more broccoli trays, some more squash pods, and the flower seeds I never seem to get to. I’ve willed myself to believe that it’s not too late. I may be wrong.

 

 

 

I took in the garden and grounds that I’ve had such high hopes for but have felt heavy about abandoning these past months.

 

 

 

I used birthday funds this year (merci pépé et maman!) to buy a fair amount of trees for around the house–our home yard is quite wide open, which has made me realize just how much I love trees. I feared a number of them hadn’t made it given the lack of watering and, let’s say it, care. But they’ve all grown substantial foliage save for three. I so appreciate the resilience of nature.

 

 

 

My half of the garden isn’t as barren as I’d been fearing either (so I stopped my frantic calls to all of the garden centres, confident that the year’s brassica harvest will see us through). Given our competitive natures (and our strong desire for excellent yields), P and I decided to have a vegetable garden contest whereby we each have 3 sections and we compete for victory–we’ve together established desired yields for each section as well as general principles for extra points (such as successive planting, rotations, cover cropping, frugality, etc.) It feels good knowing I can still win.

 

 

 

What I’m looking forward to most though is spending slow time with these two humans. Spending eleven hours a day away from this home and my family took a toll–on connections and patience and a sense of knowing where these kids are at.

So while this isn’t exactly how I thought this great off-farm adventure would go, I’m at peace and full of gladness for where I’m at.

 

 

 

Advertisements

d’autres livres préférés.

Avant qu’on les retourne à notre bibiothèque de ville, voici quelques titres particulièrement appréciés.

Je me découvre un sérieux penchant pour les livres où les personnages adultes/parents sont présentés comme étant tout à fait faillible.

(Les rhinos ne mangent pas de crêpes, Anna Kemp et Sara Ogilvie aux éditions Little Urban)

Certains n’écoutent pas leur enfant quand elle leur dit qu’un rhino est emménagé chez eux.

(On fait des miettes on imite le coucou, Lina Ekdahl et Emma Hanquist aux éditions Cambourakis)

D’autres veulent que tu sortes à tout prix et te rappellent à l’intérieur avec autant d’insistance peu après.

 

(Deux garçons et un secret, Andrée Poulin et Marie Lafrance aux éditions de la bagnole)

D’autres encore te disent que tu ne peux/pourras pas marier la personne que tu aimes.

 

On fait des miettes de Lina Ekdahl a non seulement une super représentation d’enfants racisés, mais le texte est également the best pour l’adulte lecteur qui s’ennuie de lire des reccueils de poésie à voix haute.

Divers.

100 bonhommes de neige d’Andrée Poulin et Qin Leng est le seul livre d’enfant que j’ai lu qui parle de mortinatalité. Ce qui arrive à leur chère enseignante n’est pas expliqué en détails, mais ils comprennent qu’il n’y aura pas de bébé et savent qu’elle et son conjoint vivent une période sombre/une dépression. Un livre touchant.

 

Parce que tout le monde aime les atlas et les données sociologiques et démographiques représentées de façon visuelle.

 

Mon nouveau livre préféré sur les baleines.

 

Les gens arrivaient de partout pour visiter Glace-Terre et Fauve s’en donnait à coeur joie à les esquisser et à les cataloguer, observateur d’humains dévoué qu’il est. Un jour, un brouillard s’installa et les humains cessèrent de visiter l’île. L’indifférence généralisée des autres oiseaux semblait alors épaissir le brouillard. Jusqu’à ce la capuchonnée rouge à lunettes fit son apparition et qu’avec ses connaissances en origami, elle aida Fauve à trouver d’autres êtres qui ne se foutaient pas du brouillard omniprésent qui gommait son bonheur. Morale de l’histoire : trouves-toi des copines-copains qui voient le monde comme tu le vois, ensemble vous pourrez le changer à tout jamais. Touchant.

 

Un nouveau préféré d’A. (2,5 ans) et un livre qui se traduit sur-le-champ quand même assez facilement. En 1986, Sesame Street publiait un livre où un couple Noir explique ce qu’est l’adoption (et la transition dans une famille après l’arrivée d’un nouveau bébé) aux enfants. Comme si mon amour de Sesame Street n’était pas déjà un peu exagérée.

Vive les albums jeunesse.

my off-farm shift

I’ve been working off farm for three weeks now.  It’s been a good shift for me. The hour-long commute was getting heavy, but I then discovered the joy of the audiobook. Having  completed one for every week of work thus far, I’m looking forward to the months ahead. To shift the kid to adult book ratio to my read list.

While it’s hard to be away from the kids, the artefacts that they leave behind at the end of the day–the miscellaneous duplo and lego constructions, the bits of written letters and words, the mountains of minuscule paper clippings, the 300+ puzzle pieces, that is: every single kids puzzle we own completed on the living room floor — are evermore heartwarming.

The real family bonus though is that, since starting this job, I’ve started overhearing the kids speaking dutch together. I was so hoping that more home time with P. would make dutch more of a langue d’usage for them. And it has.

Also, P. has taught himself to play dozens of kids’ songs on our new piano, which means that our youngest, who already broke into song at least a dozen times a day, now does so even more. The cuteness is almost unbearable.

 

 

And in this empowering, emboldening yet existentially exhausting #MeToo moment, where women are seizing this groundswell of a moment, are speaking up and denouncing and holding their parties to account as every second day it seems a new member of parliament resigns because allegations of sexual assault or harrassment come to light,

I get to work alongside committed and seasoned feminist activists. It’s so very good for the soul.

 

it’s been a long december. / un semblant de résolutions.

 

It’s been a strange and amazing and rough beginning of winter.

Realising that a change of pace and a feeling of bread-winning would do wonders for my confidence, I started looking for work. The exercise was fascinating. It gave me a lot of energy. And while writing cover letters is never very pleasant there’s something about taking the time to imagine your life in many different configurations, and in being forced to talk up your trajectory and skills, that made me feel more solid and resilient despite some blows.

I found a job working four days a week with a very feminist team. I’m really looking forward to it (and also really hoping that this change won’t be too much of a weight on my supportive partner, who’ll be full-time farming on top of doing more of the daycare+school pick ups and school bus coordinating).

 

I received words that cut really deep before the holidays and I’ve had an embarrassingly hard time trying to shake them. They encompassed the whole and the whole ordeal sowed such deep doubt. It’s been a lot of trying to find my way out of a rabbit hole, wondering if someone else can be righter about me and my experiences than I am. There have been strong moments of Of course not. but the doubt and anxiety linger.

After witnessing a messy kind of e-exchange a few months earlier, I had committed to not penning long cathartic emails when human interactions get strained and challenging. I’m so grateful for the lesson. I’ve tried to make non-violent communication and compassionate patience more of a practice since having kids (and since being faced with the very real and surprising challenges of existing as a hetero- nuclear family in a rural/frugal/farm setting). The practice isn’t perfect. Neither is my communication. But in an effort to let go of the funk, I am recommitting to it for 2018.

 

 

I’m committing to more quiet reflection and to more movement.

To more sharing of the joy that is.

Committing too to continuing the reflection on what it means to try to grow your assertiveness as someone who’s been conditioned to ‘be nice’ at all cost; what it means to set clear boundaries and to take up space in relationships where it’s hard, where it’s unwelcome and challenged.

Committing to work on fostering less needlessly critical ways of being. To limit its intake and out-take both from within and from out.

 

 

I’m going to let the women pals who support me and teach me kindness, self-compassion and steadfastness know just how much I fucking love them.

Take time to be truly and utterly wow-ed by my eldest who is (entre autres) WRITING WORDS. Tout seul! Beautifully and phonetically. And by my youngest who is such a delightful ray of sunshine that I tear up daily thinking about how unbearably fast he’s growing.

 

 

Am going to savour closeness, this life I’m/we’re building, and the wide-variety of challenges we choose to face everyday.

 

.

 

playground-toothbrush fundraiser ! / levée de fonds pour embellir les cours d’école

 

L’école de notre village organise une levée des fonds dans le but d’embellir ses cours  d’école. Elles ont grand besoin d’amour et de nouveau. (Le Ministère de l’Éducation s’est déjà engagé à défrayer le tiers du coût du projet, soit 25,000$.)

//

Our town’s school is organizing a fundraiser to fix up its school yards. They’re in high need of love and newness. (This and other fundraisers are to supplement the $25,000 that the Ministère de l’Éducation has committed.)

 

 

Pour se faire, les enfants sont invités à vendrent des brosses à dents. Elles se vendent au coût de 3$ et sont offertes gratuitement par la clinique dentaire de St-André-Avellin, donc toutes les sommes ammassées iront directement au projet cours d’école.

//

The kids are invited to sell toothbrushes at the cost of $3, and given that the toothbrushes are being generously donated by our local dental clinic, all proceeds are going to the school.

 

 

Quand nous étions chez la dentiste cette semaine, on a pu voir de quelle marque/style sont les brosses à dents. Elles sont bien belles, les voici :

//

When we were at the dentist earlier this week, we asked to see what brand/style of toothbrushes we were selling. Here they are, bright and shiny :

 

Pour placer une commande, envoyez moi un mot à josee.madeia@gmail.com en précisant combien de brosses à dent pour adulte et combien de brosse à dent pour enfant vous voulez. / Merci de soutenir notre belle communauté rurale !

//

To place an order, please send me word at josee@gmail.com letting me know how many adult toothbrushes and how many kid toothbrushes you’d like. / Thanks for supporting our lovely rural community !

 

with our own two hands.

 

I figured out the best thing to do with stress (and kid-free time).

 

I’ve been thinking about the jobs I’ve had. The jobs I’ve quit. And I’ve been thinking about this killer line in Old Man Luedecke’s I Quit my Job,

all my friends work their dreams with their hands.

and truly this is the promised land.

…don’t let them take the joy that you make.

on your own.

I picked up 10 kilos of honey this week from a strong woman pal who started (professional) beekeeping. It’s beautiful stuff. And I know it wasn’t and isn’t easy. There are no buts about it. Not even a local, food sovereignty, feel good, wholesome « but. » Pretty glorious to make my kids honey tea from this stuff though. Between that and learning that an artist pal (another awe inspiring woman) is starting an artful leather goods business, it’s been a week of good reminders.

 

 

My eldest’s school is running a number of fundraisers to upgrade its school yards. We went over there, he and I, during a pd day to take some photos to make a really compelling fundraising pitch for our friends and fam (I had envisioned him making sad faces on the busted swing sets, but he wasn’t really into it). There’s something about the vintage rusty metal park infrastructure and the miscellaneous cement paints that really took my breath away. (Much like the efforts of solid community folks in our village wanting to make a difference). Regardless, if you want a really awesome deal on some toothbrushes, get in touch.

some (kids) books we love. 2017 edition.

 

One of the perks of having kids is hands down getting to read oodles of kids books. The combined joy of relatively short reads, simple word play, pleasant repetition, and colourful illustrations, make this genre one of my faves. With less traditional books you also get the bonus of a conversation starter, of a place saver. To talk about race and poverty and residential schools and transphobia and all of the rest.

I got really lucky with these kids of mine, they happen to both really love books too and are happy to spend hours being read to.

Here’s our shared shortlist of the more political books we’ve really enjoyed these past months. En français et en anglais.

 

Niko Draws a Feeling. Written by Bob Raczka, Illustrated by Simone Shin.

This book is such a gem. A young child is misunderstood for drawing feelings instead of things. He draws an even bigger feeling, which is later understood by a new neighbour friend. It’s totally endearing, beautifully illustrated, and if you’ve ever felt like an oddball, this one will make you smile.

 

 

Something Beautiful. Written by Sharon Dennis Wyeth, Illustrated by Chris K. Soentpiet.

The story of a young girl going around her neighbourhood asking people about their « something beautiful » after talking about the courtyard of her building, which is littered with trash, broken glass and aggressive graffiti. It’s the story of a kid who wants to make her environment her own, who’s surrounded by beauty, and who’s asking the right questions. The illustrations are gorgeous. The text is powerful.

 

Manchots au chaud. Écrit par Andrée Poulin, illustré par Oussama Mezher.

Inspirée d’une histoire vraie, c’est l’histoire d’un petit Matéo qui, suite à une terrible marée noire demande à sa grand-mère de lui apprendre à tricoter pour qu’il puisse fabriquer des chandails pour les manchots qui autrement, moureraient de froid ou d’empoisonnement. Utile pour celles et ceux qui veulent apprendre aux enfants que le tricot est révolutionnaire.

 

Little You. Written by Richard Van Camp, Illustrated by Julie Flett.

This is the book I give to all of the new babies. It’s perfect. It was also my youngest’s fave for a time, so we know it by heart and recite it. Other collaborations of Van Camp and Flett that we love (but that I keep giving away): ‘My Heart Fills with Happiness’ and ‘We Sang You Home.’ If you want to introduce elements of Indigenous culture to kids, these books are sweet intros.

 

Clive and His Babies. Written and illustrated by Jessica Spanyol.

A board book filled with kids of different races and boys who take care of their dolls. Those things shouldn’t be noteworthy but they are, so this is a good book to gently challenge stereotypes, already so painfully present in board books.

 

Les Papas de Violette. Écrit par Émilie Chazarand, illustré par Gaëlle Souppart.

Un super livre sur une famille homoparentale. Violette se fait agacer à l’école, se demande quelle « maladie » a ses papas suite aux moqueries des camarades de classe. Elle ne veux pas décevoir ses papas donc n’en parle pas, et raconte comment elle les veux les deux présents à ses trucs d’école, comme ils font plutôt le relai pour ne pas « lui rendre la vie trop difficile. » Vraiment touchant. Un bon rappel aux parents en couple hétéro de parler des différentes compositions familiales à leurs enfants–pour que les Violettes ne se fassent pas intimider de la sorte par des enfants qui ignorent que d’autres sortes de familles existent.

De par le passé, j’évitais les livres avec des moqueries écrites dans le texte, parce que je trouve ça dur à lire, et je trouvais pas ça nécessaire pour faire passer un message. Par contre mon grand m’a surpris en appréciant particulièrement Boris Brindamour et la robe orange.

 

Boris Brindamour et la robe orange. Écrit par Christine Baldacchino, illustré par Isabelle Malenfant.

Un garçon qui aime particulièrement la couleur et le frou-frou d’une robe orange et le tic-tic de souliers « de madame. » Les enfants rient de lui à l’école. Ça persiste et un matin, il dit avoir trop mal au ventre pour aller à l’école. Finalement, il s’affirme en tant qu’astronaute qui porte une robe et les amiEs l’accepte. En fin de compte, je pense qu’avoir les vraies moqueries qu’un enfant entenderait (ou entend) sur la cour d’école, ça aide.

 

L’Étrange É. Écrit par Grégoire Aubin, illustré par Roxanne Bee.

Les E aiment jouer à cache-cache mais un jour, se retrouve devant un É. Un beau texte qui raconte ce qui peut arriver quand on se retrouve devant l’Autre.

 

The Peace Book. Written and illustrated by Todd Parr.

A sweet read. « Peace is everyone having a home. » « Peace is reading all different kinds of books. » « Peace is having enough pizza in the world for everyone. » Le livre de la paix, en français, et tout aussi adorable.

 

When We Were Alone. Written by David A. Robertson, Illustrated by Julie Flett.

I don’t know how to do this one justice. What I first loved about it was that it dealt with the challenging issue of residential schools through a conversation between a grandmother and a grand-daughter. The curiosity of the child and the power and strength of the grandmother are palpable. It makes the injustices and the hardships so relatable for young kids who have never had to think about not being able to speak their language, to have their hair long, to wear colours. It’s very gentle and my 5 year old enjoys the book (despite the fact that maman always tears up). I wish I could buy cases of this book and make sure that every school library in this country has a few copies.

I wrote to the author not long ago and he told me a french translation would soon be released by Les Éditions des plaines. Une bonne nouvelle.

 

Ada La grincheuse en tutu. Écrit et illustré par Elise Gravel.

À bas les stéréotypes sexuels et les rôles de genre! Un bel album avec des Poum! Bam! Tchac! qui font rigoler les enfants à chaque lecture.

 

The Big Book of Families. Written by Mary Hoffman, illustrated by Ros Asquith.

Some people have sisters, some people live in apartments, some children live with their grandma and grandpa. Some families celebrate this or that, some go on vacations. A solid book that shows that there are so many ways that people can live, and love, and transport themselves.

 

Joy. Written by Joyce Carol Thomas, Illustrated by Pamela Johnson.

Another favourite board book. This book is a poem, through the seasons, of a parent telling a child the many ways that she/he is her joy. A great read-aloud book.

 

Deux garçons et un secret.Écrit par Andrée Poulin, illustré par Marie Lafrance.

La belle histoire de deux jeunes garçons, des meilleurs amis, qui s’aiment et qui se marient avec des bagues empruntées. Les parents d’un d’eux les oblige à se « démarier. »  En racontant que ses parents lui ont dit que les garçons ne peuvent pas se marier ensemble, une copine lui répond, « Les parents ne savent pas toujours tout! Des fois, ils se trompent. Maman me l’a dit. Papa aussi. » Un message important. Un autre bon livre à offrir aux bibliothèques d’école pendant les semaines pour contrer l’intimidation.

 

 

Sophie et sa courge. Écrit par Piet Zietlow Miller, illustré par Anne Wilsdorf. (Traduit de l’anglais, Sophie’s Squash).

Si vous voulez inspirer vos enfants à dessiner des visages sur vos courges pour des années à venir, c’est l’ouvrage parfait. Bon pour promouvoir le jardinage et la confection de jouets par soi-même aussi.

 

Quel génie! Écrit et illustré par Ashley Spires. (Traduit de l’anglais, Most Magnificent Thing)

Le meilleur livre d’enfant que j’ai lu sur la persévérance et la frustration. Il nous a beaucoup servi.

 

Harlem’s Little Blackbird. Written by Renée Watson, Illustrated by Christian Robinson.

The illustrated story of Florence Mills. A lovely book. Has been a great tool to start talking about segregation and to keep talking about racism with my 5 year old.

 

Bonjour l’ami. Écrit et illustré par Kang Full.

Un roman graphique qui raconte l’histoire d’un enfant qui tente d’aider un chaton à retrouver ses parents la nuit en pleine tempête de neige. L’enfant sait poser des questions qui aident son ami chaton à penser autrement son rapport aux autres. Très touchant comme ouvrage.

 

Trompette,petit dinosaure au grand coeur. Écrit par David Bedford, illustré par Mandy Stanley.

Le livre préféré de mon petit de 2 ans. Je trouve que la générosité dont fait preuve Trompette est un peu poussé (spoiler alert: il donne son doudou!) et que lui et Pelote aurait bien pu trouver une solution un peu plus créative au problème du trou dans la montgolfière, mais c’est très doux comme histoire et mes deux enfants connaissent le texte par coeur.

 

Sex is a Funny Word. Written by Cory Silverberg, illustrated by Fiona Smyth.

The sequel to « What Makes a Baby » (actually!) and the book you wish you had had when you were 7 or 10 or 12. It’s a pretty solid read when you’re in your thirties too. It makes me really happy that books like this exist.

 

Amazing Grace. Written by Mary Hoffman, Illustrated by Caroline Binch.

Grace loves stories and dress-up and make-believe. When her class puts on the play Peter Pan and she raises her hand to play the lead role, she’s told (by class-mates) she can’t be Peter Pan first because she’s a girl, second because she’s black. She proves them wrong. Gorgeous illustrations.

 

Y’a pas de place chez nous. Écrit par Andrée Poulin, illustré par Enzo Lord Mariano.

Un livre à propos de deux jeunes réfugiés dans un bateau en mer. Ils tentent d’accoster sur différentes îles, différentes rives, mais on les refuse, et avec une intolérance pas mal haineuse. Je le trouve dur à lire et je trouve qu’il ne va pas assez loin pour entamer une discussion sur les droits des réfugiés ou notre responsabilité humaine d’accueillir les individus et les groupes qui quittent des situations de guerre. Mais c’est tout de même un livre qui aide à expliquer la situation de tant de gens dans le monde et il laisse beaucoup de place à l’adulte qui en fait la lecture.

 

Haïti mon pays. Poèmes d’écoliers Haïtiens illustrés par Rogé.

Un beau livre à feuilleter. Un bel aperçu poétique de la vie d’enfants.

 

Le bain d’Abel. Écrit et illustré par Audrey Poussier.

Un livre rigolo où un jeune Abel se retrouve dans un système d’épuration d’eau pour retrouver son « bon bain bien chaud avec de la mousse et des jouets dedans. » Si l’idée de parler d’eaux usées et de ruisseau qui mène au fleuve qui mène à la mer t’emballe, c’est l’ouvrage parfait pour toi.

 

Thanks to Octopus Books for ordering all of our English language books. Merci à leslibraires.ca pour la possibilité de commander en ligne de libraires indépendants. And mostly, to the Ottawa Public Library for having non-resident library memberships–for $50 a year, we borrow as many books as we want. So grateful.

 

on hanging up the skates

some days we joke about throwing in the towel.

and some days the joke has a harder, sharper edge.

 

(from La ferme des dinos, écrit et illusté par Frann Preston-Gannon aux Éditions Père Fouettard, 2017).

these past months, it’s been the ever-present financial worries; the life and farm infrastructure that keeps crapping out on us; the wet, cold summer that has left an important portion of our herds in less than optimal health; the marketing that we aren’t getting to and the inventory we have yet to sell.

it’s knowing that so many farmer pals are in the same boat.

it’s thinking too much about climate change (or the apocalypse), knowing that what we’re doing is part of a solution–that we’re not opting to tinker with a broken system but to offer up and create something that can be sustainable, sustained and sustaining. it’s knowing too that we’re building soil, practising animal husbandry, and selling meats and eggs in a way that’s deeply respectful but certainly not cost effective.

 

I look at photos of the kids growing up in this place, the knowledge and competence they carry and hone daily (and I know I’m learning too even if my growth isn’t so carefully photographed and documented).. and I see all the food and energy this farm can produce–with our market gardener and co-farmer pals here, with the workshops and free school we’ve hosted, with carving out time and space for political community engagement, and I know it’s worth it. I know it.

but the exhaustion is wearing on me. on us.

 

(farming with soul is a public service, damn it. it can’t be a struggle every step of the way.)

 

 

 

 

sweaters and spinach and sticky egg shells.

 

Woke up to the crisp coolness of autumn. To the reality of being the mother of a school aged child.  To the feeling that the season sped by too fast, that the stress levels have been too high, that relational strains take their tolls.

Nevertheless, grateful to be buttoning up sweaters, to be watching this big kid eagerly get on his first big yellow school bus, to be rummaging through to find tuques, and to making our home smell like stewed apples.

 

 

In the midst of it all, somehow the garden grew (even the peanut plants this year).

 

 

A kind farm dog joined our family, we seeded a lawn (that took!), fed animals, lost track of a few (self-declared free-range) hens given the tallness of our grasses and the low voltage of our fences.

 

 

We learned that taking the key out of the quad’s ignition is now a good idea, we hosted a successful pizza oven making workshop, built and played, and used our welding mask to catch glimpses of a solar eclipse.

 

 

September brings our freeschool, (unfortunate, unexpected, expensive) foundation work on house #2, trying to solve the lay rate and broken egg dilemma (with more numerous daily visits to gather eggs, and white golf balls in the nesting boxes to maybe confuse them), taking down some old fences, wood pile stacking, and cleaning this place up.

 

 

May I get to fall spinach and kale seeding, to blanching bunches of chard, to try my luck at canning, and find peace in a new season’s rhythms.

june.

 

 

In early June, we were able to start moving the chicken coop with the 4×4 instead of the tractor (water logged pastures + wagon tire ruts = impossible in May), the whole farm team took in a mob grazing workshop which inspired us and helped us to hone our grazing plan, the grasses grew and grew, as did the pigs.

 

 

With all the rains we’ve had (a state of emergency was declared in our area), our co-farmers/second house renters started to notice that not just water was coming into the basement, but soil was as well. Super sub-optimal.

 

 

Turns out the cinder block foundation was starting to curve inward. As we’ve done time and again since moving here, we hired a local contractor with an excavator to dig all around the building to lessen the pressure on the compromised walls. Turns out, yes, you can back fill too much.

 

 

After many phone calls, evaluation visits, and much form filling and waiting, we learned that the insurance would not cover any of the costs. I won’t lie, it was devastating.

 

 

P. & I opted to make massive farm investments this year, mostly to start doubling the cow herd, to be able to hire the lovely (and competent!) employees we’ve been working with since May. For our quality of life, having this farm provide an income for our family plus full time staff is key. It means more manageable workloads, time for both parents to see these beautiful kids grow, and better work-life balance for all.

All this to say, the next two-three years were already going to be quite tight. This massive new expense, and these structural problems that can’t be ignored if we don’t want to lose the house entirely, feel a lot like another truckload of straw trying to break the camel’s back.

 

 

Despite the growing anxiety, the hope and beauty of this place live on and carry me. Our beloved Ayrshire dairy cow, Jo Petra, had her calf, Frankie. The kids’ tenderness around fresh life is forever heartwarming. As is their utter lack of surprise or disgust as they discover and inquire about the after birth, the placenta. (It would seem that the time is ripe to plant their placentas under trees).

 

 

As we had planned to last autumn, yesterday, our excavator pal came back to dig our new entrance way. Instead of having our entrance come up right next to the house, it’ll now come up on the other side of our kitchen garden. This means that all of the large trucks, farm machinery, etc. will be further away from our daily outdoor living/playing space.

 

 

For right now though it just means more mud, more forever-construction-feel. Some of us enjoy that more than others.

I take solace in the thought that we’re single-handedly creating a whole lot of jobs, contributing a great deal to the local economy, and to rural life at a time when governments seem intent on driving all rural dwellers and agricultural people to urban centres.

 

Here’s hoping for some sun to keep the basements dry, the germination rates from plummeting, and our herds’ health where they needs to be.