Homesteading Middles: Splitting Wood with The Emerald Podcast

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Homesteading Middles: Splitting Wood with The Emerald Podcast

In her book, Wait It Gets Worse, my sister wrote about the two of us splitting wood in 2013. We had borrowed a splitter from a friend and took turns maneuvering logs beneath the pressurized blade. We now own a splitting machine. Funny how these things work after you do the math of renting for a few years.

Wanting a clean slate of the most time consuming fall chore before school started - we split wood while the smalls were away. In years past we had waited for October - but getting it done now feels like a gift of kite flying in that month instead of chore twitching.

First thing in the morning before it gets too hot and then again at the end of the day before the mosquitoes take over.

It is so satisfying.

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Letter to my Children: Letters from my Children

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Letter to my Children: Letters from my Children

Dearest Beloveds,

I wish I could imagine where you two are writing your letters home. Sitting up in bed and balancing your paper on your knees as you listen to rain hitting the sides of the tent? Laying on your bellies on your inspection ready sheets and writing on your pillows? Crouched on the floor writing hunched over on the floor of your cabin?

Momma and Dadda* are writing on one corner of the dining table. Our materials are strewn about because we don’t need to clear that end for meals.

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Homesteading Middles: The Captivation of Chicks

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Homesteading Middles: The Captivation of Chicks

“Enjoy this time my beloveds, because baby chickens are only cute for the first 10 days or so - and we are assuming these girls were born yesterday, but it may have been the day before that.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Positive. I am positive. Tell you what, I will take pictures of them every day you hold them so we can keep track of how quickly they grow.”

So we did.

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Sneaking through the Cracks

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Sneaking through the Cracks

I deliberately stopped reading the news a month ago. I had stopped last November - but the urge to dive in and “be informed” pulled and tugged. I found myself diving into coverage comparing middle, right, left commentaries on all of the above, etc.

Until once again, the undigested vitriol of a mass PainBody frenzy became so stark. So confronting. So EXHAUSTING.

The Universe also sends me fairly regular reminders that focussing on such negativity is NOT good for any part of me (“ecumenically, spiritually, grammatically” - thank you Capt Jack Sparrow.)

So, I don’t deliberately click on any news. AND YET!

The world of text alerts and email requests means I know what is happening because the most click worthy headlines wiggle in.

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Letter to my Children: Berry Season vs Overwhelm

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Letter to my Children: Berry Season vs Overwhelm

We pulled up to the bus stop as the rain pelted the top of the 4x4 - the windshield dappled gray from koalin clay patina and water drops.

Dragon piped up, “Momma, is rainwater safe?”

My mind immediately sent me pictures of melting gargoyles and the assembly when I was in grade school where the performers sang about “Acid Rain” to the tune of Prince’s “Purple Rain.”

What do I say?

“Ummm, it depends on where you are.”

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Joining the Pink Ribbon Club

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Joining the Pink Ribbon Club

“Momma, why do you need to do radiation? I want to ride my bike to the end of the road and I can’t because you need to take the car to the bus. It is not fair! I want to ride my bike! It is NOT FAIR!”

Dragon, you are 150000% correct. It is not fair. It is not fair I need to be radiated for the FOURTH FUCKING TIME. It is not fair my mucosal lining is so taxed from the bone marrow transplant for Hodgkins I am on regular Imodium and bentonite clay courtesy of the immunotherapy. It is not fair I wrote a book about not feeding my “What If Monster” nearly 17 years ago and I am STILL negotiating with the SAME MONSTER - and I know how I am making it worse with these wallowing thoughts and that just makes me ANGRY.

Corinna, deep breath. Remember your vagal nerve release exercise!

I put my fingers on either side of my ears and gently rubbed up and down along the hairline until I yawned.

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Letter to my children: Holding the Boundaries

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Letter to my children: Holding the Boundaries

“Okay, so Momma, I want to send a picture of myself in a bathing suit so L can upload them to Google Slides. Then she and I can decide which bathing suit to wear to the pool party.”

“The pool party that is in June.”

“Right.”

I remember being so excited to plan outfits with close buddies at your age, such fun!

Fifteen minutes later I sat poised to send pictures of Bean, resplendent in your 11 year old long legged blonde glory.

And my brain caught up.

Corinna!!! What are you thinking?! Sending pictures over the internet cannot become normalized - and this is where this starts.

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Homesteading Middles: Drought in the Autumn = Scant Greens in Greenhouse

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Homesteading Middles: Drought in the Autumn = Scant Greens in Greenhouse

This past autumn was very dry. Super super super dry.

Per years past we planted seedlings in the greenhouse in October. We coddled the new plants for a few days. Then the holidays rolled around and we ignored them.

From years past we knew that nothing happened during the dark times of December and January. Instead we looked at the snowdrifts against the greenhouse and snuggled by the fire.

We trusted the ground moisture would seep into the baby roots and feed the growing plants - claytonia, spinach, bok choy. We knew this to be a safer choice for water than potentially freezing the cells of the plants with too much water from a can.

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Letter to my Children: Hiding A Coin During Bathtime

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Letter to my Children: Hiding A Coin During Bathtime

“Are your eyes closed?”

“Yup.”

Bean and I sat together. Our heads leaning in towards each other. The water was warm. I could hear Dragon move. The sound of a coin clinked against stone, then metal, then silence. There were more ripple sounds as he moved in the water.

“Are you ready yet?” Bean yelped by my ear.

“Almost.”

More ripples burbled. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

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Letter to my Children: Thoughts on Somatic Capitalism

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Letter to my Children: Thoughts on Somatic Capitalism

Dearest Beloveds,

Over the last couple of years, depending on circumstances and audience, I would dust off this joke.

“The history of the world could be written as - I don’t want to dig my own potatoes.”

And then I would pause for laughter.

I am retiring the joke. I have dug fewer than 1% of the potatoes I have eaten in my lifetime. It doesn’t feel as though I am the right person to say it. It also feels, given that I am trying to dismantle the overstory of capitalism from my cells - too tragic.

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Letter to my Children: Paper airplanes

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Letter to my Children: Paper airplanes

“I can’t help not making paper airplanes. If there is a spare piece of paper, even if it has stuff on it, I just wanna fold it. I like folding ‘em. I like experimenting making new shapes.”

Dragon’s obsession is strewn all over our living space - as we eke out our final weeks of inside living before icy mud season dries up.

I have spent the last few weeks tripping across paper airplanes everywhere in our house. Small ones, big ones, bigger ones (4x4 papers), and even an attempt at a HUGE one (10x10 papers was too big for liftoff).

They make me happy (well, not the tripping, but the rest of it.)

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