so, you want to be a farmer

I have a small, nagging problem and it's all the internet's fault. All of it. Between reading bits of Wendell Berry and "The Omnivore's Dilemma" (fine, only 63 pages in, even worse!) and growing weary of winter and feeling the dim confines of our basement apartment... okay, the internet isn't responsible for all of it. But I have gotten sucked into a couple of pockets of the world that are so fascinating to me: young blogging homesteaders and farmers (that phrase could not have been possible even 20 years ago, eh?).

This young couple, along with their children, are very intentionally pursuing a lifestyle outside of the grasp of the mighty supermarket. It sounds impossible, but between growing and making their own food, as well as buying meat, dairy, and other supplies from locally owned and operated businesses... they are on their way to pulling it off. I love the idea of knowing exactly where your food comes from, how it was produced, and just how far it traveled to get to you, not to mention getting to know the people producing it.

Side note: I don't know what it is about the Hamilton area, but I'm so intrigued that such a relatively urban population (500,000 in 88 square miles) is also within such close reach to farms, orchards, butchers, dairies, flour mills, wineries... must be a fortunate combination of location and climate and history.

Another deadly trap has been the discovery of this blog, and while I can't say I have an acute case of Barnheart just yet, I can feel small twitches that threaten to grow. She makes me want to find a chunk of land, buy some sheep and a truck, and start selling and spinning some wool. I'm not kidding. Throw in some chickens too, and some beehives so I can give honey and beeswax lip balm away as gifts.

I'm idealizing this in so many ways. I loved "All Creatures Great and Small" by James Herriot, a veterinarian in rural Yorkshire. I would have "Charlotte's Web" on the brain and make the huge mistake of naming every last one of my animals, and it would break my heart to watch them get sick or, as is the nature of farms, finally slaughtered for food. I love hard, tangible, rewarding work, but I don't know what it is to be tied to the land and unable to travel on a whim when there is work to be done. I can't even haul my ass out of bed at the first (or second, or ninth) moment the alarm goes off. I have no idea what it is to be a farmer.

But when I read blogs like these, I yearn for woodburning stoves and the hum of contented creatures nearby and growing fresh food outside my back door and the dead-tired satisfaction of a full day of labor and having friends over for feasts. Simple, honest, pleasurable things. They aren't so unrealistic, in some small measure, right?

it begins in ashes

There is something so gritty and tangible about the season of Lent, I am figuring out. The grey smudges on Ash Wednesday and the dim purples attributed to this time really reflect what's outside my window (although it is snowing thickly right now, but that's bound to turn to rain in the next 24 hours) and most of my surroundings as I move through my day. This time of year is tough; March is in like the crankiest of lions. Winter has worn me down and run its course, turned grey and dingy everywhere I look, but it's too soon for the earth to really come to life.

This moody, bleak setting is just about right for ideas like fasting and preparation and lament and 40 days in the wilderness. The sunlight and first day of spring and greens are on their way, and I have that to look forward to, but there's no shortcut through this season to get to the next, both spiritually and physically. So much of the Bible is about people waiting, preparing, anticipating. It's probably the kind of thing you could write a huge paper on (I am around my PhD student husband too much), all the ways and reasons and unbelievable lengths of time people hoped and prayed and waited. So much emphasis is on the preparation itself, sometimes more than the anticipated event, and that's something I haven't considered in past Lenten seasons. Like this time of year, I have passively watched the days slide by without participating or preparing.

So, I want to participate. The tangible side is straightforward; the tradition of sacrificing something or simplifying for the 40 days of Lent is familiar. In my case, it will be processed sugar, which my teeth will be happy about, but the rest of me, not so much. (This is scary for me to go ahead and write down, because I never do it here- I don't really talk about goals or challenges or commitments to whoever's listening, because then suddenly I'm ACCOUNTABLE FOR THEM. That is terrifying.) It's a comfort and a distraction, but not really healthy for the long term, and I think sugar could represent other parts of me that I use for comfort and distraction, but might be stunting my growth.

I had my last Shamrock Shake yesterday (now that they have shown up in Canada again!). How my heart and soul will participate is yet to be seen. I hope to be changed.

the taste of good things

The last few weeks have been such a slump, for some reason. Maybe because the best part of winter has passed and I like to have something specific to look forward to, and there isn't anything on the radar right now. Maybe also because it's a weird time of Life Plan uncertainty for us (which you'd think we would be used to by now) and while I like to think I'm flexible and such, right now I'm pretty much just uncomfortable and discontent and a grouch.

So in an effort to rally, here are some things that I like, for no particular reason. Most of them are food.

We tried quinoa for the first time last week, and going into it, I was a little worried. Being a recovering Picky Eater (Hi, my name is Anna, and I'm a Picky Eater) and a total texture phobe, I wasn't sure how the quinoa was going to go over. So I found a recipe full of stuff that I like and hoped it would be enough of a distraction. Success!

And, my husband was a good sport and ate some too, even after I repeatedly told him that my feelings weren't in danger and he didn't have to eat it if it bombed. The quinoa was pretty bland and reminded me a lot of couscous, which we also had last week, and in an attempt to avoid any more bland mines (HAAAAA), I found a recipe that used all of this.

I mean, come on. How can sundried tomatoes steer you wrong? We had the couscous with a whole roasted chicken, but that did not turn out nearly as good-looking so I didn't take any pictures as evidence. It wasn't a disaster or anything, but it wasn't a chicken to brag about for generations to come, either.

Something I really, really love is roasting whole heads of garlic (which I did in the same pan with the undocumented chicken). I toasted some bread in the oven too, squeezed some roasted garlic on, took a bite, and passed out from sheer delight.

... I might be drooling a little over here.

I also found a Maple Pecan scone recipe while flipping through my new Pioneer Woman cookbook (a Christmas gift I received two of, one from my mother-in-law AND one from my stepmom, who are apparently competing for the thoughtfulness prize) and I am truly sorry I can't link to it for you, because it is delicious. Obviously this is the result of whipping cream, sugar, and about 19 pounds of butter, but I got over that guilt pretty quickly.

That icing is just ridiculous. I used to always use the scone recipe in my copy of the BHG Cookbook, but no more. We have a new normal around here.

I love this mug but I look like a fool when I sip out of the corners. It's the only way to work with it. The dignity we sacrifice for love.

I'm not very creative when it comes to cooking. It's like when I clean; most of the time I avoid it until I just have to deal with it, but every once in I while I'm struck with inspiration and clean all the things! or in this case, try something new without exceeding our means. It's a tricky thing, sticking to a budget and staying cheerful and creative about it at the same time. I'm not great at it but I have my occasional moments of grace that allow me to see the joy in what we so often see as "less".

I've been reading 'A Moveable Feast', a collection of essays from Hemingway's time in Paris, and he often mentions how poor he and his wife and his young son are. He does acknowledge having to choose between good things because of this, but it's never in a bitter tone. I love the simplicity and warmth in this quote:

"But then we did not think ever of ourselves as poor. We did not accept it. It had never seemed strange to me later on to wear sweatshirts for underwear to keep warm. It only seemed odd to the rich. We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other."

thursday funk

Grand Rapids illustrator Rebecca Green

...just one of those days.

Dot.

I love, love this short. So clever! And not just because it was produced by Aardman, who is responsible for the joy that is Wallace & Gromit.

Empathy, or lack thereof

Scene: I am watching "The Bachelor" on tv. I make fun of it out loud, but secretly there is a part of me that enjoys it. (What is with reality tv and the false sense of superiority it gives me?) Bryan sits in the same room reading, but listening just enough to add his own commentary, because obviously the saga of human emotion is irresistible. He leaves the room briefly, and when he comes back, our friend the Robot Bachelor has sent a girl home, and I am laughing (because I am heartless).

Me: Do you know what she said? She just said, "I feel like I just got punched in the stomach. AND THE HEART."

Bryan: Aw, I liked her!

Somebody's a sucker for the drama, and it's not me.

four things

1. The state of my hands in winter: dry, crackling, and bleeding at the knuckles. But also smelling of the many sweet, tiny clementines I eat during the day.

2. I never understand the "describe your leadership skills" portion on any type of application. Why does everybody want to recruit only leaders? Have you ever been trapped in a small room filled with a bunch of leaders, but no followers to balance things out? Sounds like trouble if you ask me. Really talky, bossy trouble.

3. If you're not a dog person, you probably won't find this entertaining. But I can't stop laughing. These booties are basically glorified balloons, and totally ridiculous.

Where are my feet?! from Anna Dyer on Vimeo.

4. Excuse me, but will you just look at these libraries? I think Woody or Diane might win.