Wow. It's been a long time. Coming back to this blog after more than a year away feels odd. Although I've written a few posts that I just never published, almost all of my writing has been exclusively in my physical journals.
I have needed that. I needed the pure privacy of writing only to myself. It's created a style of writing that is extremely analytical and practical, interestingly enough. Apparently I don't believe in telling myself stories. Everything I write with pen and paper is meant to disappear the moment ink hits paper and thought manifests. It's not meant to last, to be read again, by myself or anyone else.
It's boring, in some ways. In a lot of ways. Margaret Atwood advises one to write as though no one will read you. That works for therapy, but not for story. Not for me. There is very little that is beautiful that comes out when my brain knows it's not performing.
Which is FASCINATING to me. It highlights this very performative part of myself. It reminds me that I used to adore theater...
Anyhoo. It's been a year. It's been a full year. Chris and Callie and Juniper left the farm in April of 2018. I've been mostly alone here since. I've had folks come out and stay from Workaway, some of them for a couple of months, off and on. But for the most part, I have been completely alone.
It's surprisingly easy.
A little too easy... But that's a thought for another day.
It's the Winter Solstice today. I'm getting firewood ready for a big bonfire tonight, and getting my candlemaking supplies ready for some friends to come over and make beeswax candles. I fucking adore Solstice. I enjoy the anticipation leading up to it, the ever increasing darkness, earlier and earlier, till it's gloomy at 4pm. I love the knowledge that light is coiling itself up, and come this night, will begin to uncoil. Maybe a little slower than I'd like, but inexorably.
My life has been focused around farm projects far more than anything else lately. And that ability to focus has created some awesome results. I built a greenhouse, with a lot of help. I have plans around that greenhouse, involving green things. I have green things in the house that I am keeping alive. Not just alive, but happy. That's a new development in my life, the ability to keep green things thriving. And I love it. I'm drooling over seed catalogs, planning out the most impractical amount of work for myself come spring. But I'm also setting up help to mitigate that impractical amount of work, luring idealists in through various websites, showing them how fucking sweet this farm is and convincing them they want to be a part of my craftings.
That sounds a little more predatory than it actually is. I mean, I'm not luring them to a gingerbread cottage or anything...
But yeah. Pulling in folks to help throughout the year has been a superpower of mine that I've discovered over the past couple years. I'm good at it, good at making an awesome experience for people in exchange for them helping me realize my dreams.
It's not always the most organized of processes, and I'm sure it's been frustrating for some of the more type A folks who've come out. I'm letting myself slowly think it out, though, this winter. I do better when I let the needs percolate to the surface. Most of the time they fall back down into the well of my ADD, but often enough they'll stay up top and allow themselves to be addressed.
I have needed that. I needed the pure privacy of writing only to myself. It's created a style of writing that is extremely analytical and practical, interestingly enough. Apparently I don't believe in telling myself stories. Everything I write with pen and paper is meant to disappear the moment ink hits paper and thought manifests. It's not meant to last, to be read again, by myself or anyone else.
It's boring, in some ways. In a lot of ways. Margaret Atwood advises one to write as though no one will read you. That works for therapy, but not for story. Not for me. There is very little that is beautiful that comes out when my brain knows it's not performing.
Which is FASCINATING to me. It highlights this very performative part of myself. It reminds me that I used to adore theater...
Anyhoo. It's been a year. It's been a full year. Chris and Callie and Juniper left the farm in April of 2018. I've been mostly alone here since. I've had folks come out and stay from Workaway, some of them for a couple of months, off and on. But for the most part, I have been completely alone.
It's surprisingly easy.
A little too easy... But that's a thought for another day.
It's the Winter Solstice today. I'm getting firewood ready for a big bonfire tonight, and getting my candlemaking supplies ready for some friends to come over and make beeswax candles. I fucking adore Solstice. I enjoy the anticipation leading up to it, the ever increasing darkness, earlier and earlier, till it's gloomy at 4pm. I love the knowledge that light is coiling itself up, and come this night, will begin to uncoil. Maybe a little slower than I'd like, but inexorably.
My life has been focused around farm projects far more than anything else lately. And that ability to focus has created some awesome results. I built a greenhouse, with a lot of help. I have plans around that greenhouse, involving green things. I have green things in the house that I am keeping alive. Not just alive, but happy. That's a new development in my life, the ability to keep green things thriving. And I love it. I'm drooling over seed catalogs, planning out the most impractical amount of work for myself come spring. But I'm also setting up help to mitigate that impractical amount of work, luring idealists in through various websites, showing them how fucking sweet this farm is and convincing them they want to be a part of my craftings.
That sounds a little more predatory than it actually is. I mean, I'm not luring them to a gingerbread cottage or anything...
But yeah. Pulling in folks to help throughout the year has been a superpower of mine that I've discovered over the past couple years. I'm good at it, good at making an awesome experience for people in exchange for them helping me realize my dreams.
It's not always the most organized of processes, and I'm sure it's been frustrating for some of the more type A folks who've come out. I'm letting myself slowly think it out, though, this winter. I do better when I let the needs percolate to the surface. Most of the time they fall back down into the well of my ADD, but often enough they'll stay up top and allow themselves to be addressed.
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