Atypical December

The last few years, the husband and I have prepared ourselves for Winter Solstice by lighting our home with only candles and oil lamps for the week prior. Typically, this also adds to the needed warmth of this frigid time of year, but this year is very different. We're 10 days away and today's high was nearly 70 degrees. The annual holiday concert in which my choirs perform happened the last 2 nights and for the first time, I didn't wear a coat. I am allowing this unseasonably warm weather to serve as a reminder of the unexpected, unpredictable, nature of life as well as a reassurance that I do not need to attempt to expect or predict. This practice is in direct contradiction to my past mindset in which I thought I needed to steer (push, paddle, battle) at all times, rather this practice leads me to react to the hand nature has dealt, be outside, and appreciate everything. 

Thank you, Kansas, for being an artful, skillful, guru. 

The Cold

I used to hate winter. I used to complain from November to March. 

The last few autumns, I have worked diligently on appreciating the transition to colder weather. The last three while years living in town I walked the neighborhood collecting fallen nuts and leaves and photographing vibrantly colored trees. I trained myself to see the good in cold. Now that we're back in the country, I'm especially glad I learned to appreciate the balance the seasons represent. Interestingly, my career choice places me firmly opposite the dormancy of the flora and most fauna, with an extremely busy winter and a summer vacation. Fortunately, the first ice of this winter fell on a weekend so I was able to emerse  myself in the frosty paradise outside, while a fire crackled in the wood stove welcoming us back in.

The Countdown

For silly personal reasons, I just published the previous post I'd written 2 months ago. We now have a closing date of September 29th on both the new house and our current house. We leave for a week-long trip to Brazil on September 30th to attend a friend's wedding. All of this is good news, yet overwhelming. When we were negotiating on the new house in June, October was nearly out of sight. Now it's quickly approaching and we're still in town. As it turns out, we were required to sell our current home before closing on the new place. Our current home sold after only a week on the market, but the seller chose the end of September to close. Fortunately, we have already become the sole caretakers of the new property so are able to be moved in before closing. So it will go: move to the new house, pack the bags, attend the closing, sleep, drive, fly. Upon returning from Brazil, we'll settle into our new life. Still on my to-do list is selling my low-speed, low-range electric (almost) car in hopes of purchasing a ten year old Prius with high mileage for super cheap. Still on the back of my mind is the compromise this property represents. It's not my off-grid straw bale home. It's not even the location of my off-grid straw bale home. It makes me question whether I need an off-grid straw bale home. Am I settling for something convenient in lieu of something in alignment with my values? If I settle now, will I pursue later? How much energy physically and financially should I put into a place that I'm not sure I'll keep indefinitely? If I pour too much into this place, will it hamper my ability to move on and create something uniquely mine in accordance with my beliefs? Can this place become exactly that?

Luckily, none of those questions need answers today. Or this year. Or next year.

And there will be goats. There will be goats in October.

And there will be gatherings. There will be gatherings of the people I love.

For now, this is enough. My cup runneth over.

Possibility to Reality

Written June 23, 2015. Posted 2 months later.

We found our place. We haven't closed on the property, but we've signed a contract and put earnest money down. Scraping together the down payment is only possible due to the generosity of our family and friends and my husbands thriving business venture.

I knew this place was a possibility. I hoped it would be everything he conjured from hours spent pouring over the satellite image of the property. It is.

Cons:
close neighbors
paved roads
probably too far for the electric Wheego
expensive, the top of our price range
no building site for off-grid home

Pros:
house just big enough to fit our future family
huge pond (or a small lake if you're generous)
apple and mulberry trees
grass
woods
giant shop
covered swimming pool in need of repair or repurpose
serious wildlife avenue
for sale by owner, an acquaintance turned friend
easy directions from town

I've found myself unable to celebrate until after the closing, an undetermined future date.  I can't say it's too good to be true. If it were, it wouldn't be our top dollar. Purchasing the property assures two conditions: poverty and skinny dipping. Fortunately, we've had opportunities to practice both.

The 17 year and the 13 year cicadas are in full force this summer. I haven't communed with them a much as I'd like to, but I've been a busy bee as usual. I rode my first century bike race, a gravel ride I'll never forget. I don't know if I'll do it again, but I'm glad I did. Shortly after we got the call to go see the property and my focus immediately shifted. After singing the contract last week, work began on our current home to get it ready to show and sell. So here we are, sprucing up a home in an effort to abandon it more quickly, making tentative plans for the new place, trying to keep looking forward despite a whirlwind of events.

The heat of summer has arrived. It slows things. My body surrenders effortlessly, but my mind must be reminded to heel, here and now. This house will sell. That house will be bought. We will move. Exactly at the right time.

Rainy May

Spring has sprung and school is done, despite today's chilly weather. This season's kale, chard, spinach, tomatoes, peppers and herbs combined with the returning strawberries, blackberries, catnip, and marigolds are saturated with excessive spring rains. The ponds and rivers are abundantly full and flooding.  I borrow views of the green Flint Hills while training for my first century bike ride and spend time coveting others' farms. With reasonable confidence, we hope this will be the summer we get back to the country, satisfying our urge to roam and root. 

The contents of our refrigerator include greens and herbs from our garden, foraged wild onions, lettuce from the EHS greenhouse, and eggs from G&L Whole Food. It will be a few months before my own three backyard hens are laying, but even observing them seems nutritious. 

This time around I have noticed and given appreciation to the softness of spring; and while some areas have too much, I am so thankful for rain and mud and having enough.  

Patience

Every time a rural property within 20 miles of Emporia comes on the market, my husband gets an email. We've driven to look at numerous properties: some land, some houses. Each one we being to consider changes our specifications. Each one has its own pros and cons. Just when we think we've made a decision about how things will be, something entices us to rethink our wants and needs. So for now, we're hunkered down in town, waiting out the winter, wishing we were planning a move, but practicing patience until we find (decide/manifest) the right time and situation. As country friends are hatching springs chicks, I'm nurturing a volunteer tomato plant, the seed of which hitchhiked on a worm from the compost into the salamander tank. There is hope. Spring will come. The pasture will green. And one of these rotations, we'll get back to where we want to be.

Fire

I was born in July. I like to be warm. I like blankets and thick socks. Our current home in town has central heat and a/c. Our first winter here, the thermostat seemed really luxurious--not having to cut, haul, split, stack and carry wood inside--except when we burned wood for heat we also spent time together. It took cooperation. It also kept us close together. Literally. The wood stove was the warmest place in our home so everyone (dogs and cats included) wanted to be near. If we got too hot we moved away. Before a shower I'd hang my clothes near the stove to warm them so after the shower I had toasty clothing with no additional energy cost. Warm towels, radiant hair drying, clothes racks for drying laundry, a pot of water to humidify. With central heat, just when I grab a blanket, the furnace kicks on, I get too hot, ditch the blanket, then it kicks off and I'm chilly again. Too cold. Too hot. I have serious "Goldilocks" syndrome that would be instantly cured by returning to a constant radiant heat source.

I recently came across the idea that a wood stove warms you while you're cutting, loading, splitting, stacking, and carrying, not just burning. I look forward to next winter when wood will warm us.

"Before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water." 

Zen Proverb

Also missing from central heat is the gentle source of flickering firelight. Long winter nights leave me yearning not only for warmth, but light. My friends and I have a tradition of celebrating the Winter Solstice, that hopeful return of the light. We exchange homemade or re-gifted gifts, eat, drink, reflect and plan. My husband and I anticipate the Solstice by limiting the use of electric lighting in our house the week prior and instead using oil lamps and candles. Being extremely busy through November and December, I don't have the motivation to do much seasonal decorating, but I do keep an upside-down tomato cage adorned with chicken-wire and Christmas lights complete with a star on top. This year, we've decided to keep the tree until the Spring Equinox, a sure sign that something is missing from our home.

Perhaps the building plans for our off-grid, forever home won't even include overhead electric lighting. Perhaps we'll be able to heat water and a radiant floor with our wood stove. Maybe our dogs and future children will rest comfortably on an earthen bench warmed by a rocket-mass heater. Whatever the case, it will be just right.