Picture This...

Okay. You live on fifty acers. You got up and did yoga. Then you went and milked your cows, and fed your horses. You also gathered eggs from the chickens. You've just come inside from picking six pounds of apples off of the trees in your garden. Now you remove the dirty gardening clothes you're wearing, and put on the hand sewn Capri's you made last week. You begin to chop up the apples, after peeling them. You take them and some spices and put them in the slow-cooker you bought five years ago. It's still in good shape, except for where you lost your balance two years ago, and dropped it on the floor, cracking one of the knobs. You look up every so often, to see your six year old daughter playing on the swing you and your husband made. You watch your dog, Spot, running around her. While the apples are cooking, you go out and start weeding the lettuce, stopping every so often to add mulch here and there. When the lettuce is weeded, the sun is begining to get hot. You get an earthen ware jug off the counter, and bring some water to your husband, who's plowing the middle Field, preparing it for planting alf-alfa to feed your cows, Old Bess, and Bossy. When you leave you husband, he's scratching your horse, Pet, behind her ears. You turn to see him climb up an pull the reigns, telling Pet to go to the left. You stop at the barn on the way back, and check that the cows, horse, and chickens have enough water, because it IS a hot summer day. You take a short detour, and look at the Alpacas. You love the furry beasts, even the bad tempered ones. You watch them eat their hay, and remember how last year Yo-yo, the brown one over there, got scared, and ran while you were shearing him, knocking you over, and forcing you to spend a good quarter-hour rounding him up. Yo-yo comes up to you just then, and askes for you to scratch him, bringing you out of you memories. You do scratch him, and the you go back to your home. When you get there, you are momentarily scared when you see that your daughter is no longer on her swing. You run onto the house to look for her. You find her five minutes later, picking strawberries in the garden. You tell her to get a basket of them inside, and you'll make a pie for desert. You go back in the house, and write down what you're having for dinner. You decide on a vegan sheperd's pie and some of the apple sauce you made in the morning. So you start the shepard's pie, and get it ready to go into the solar-oven you made when you built your house. You go and sweep the living room (all wooden floors) and dust off the little barn you made in a pottery class last year. Your daughter comes in then with her strawberries, and you make the pie with her. You tell her that you think she ate more strawberries than she put in the basket, from the juice on her face. When you're done making the pie, you sit down for a moment, ant knit, while whatching the timer like a hawk. When you've been there for fifteen minutes, and it's five 'o clock, you go and put the shepard's pie in the oven. When your husband comes in, you've got things ready to eat. You call you daughter in from the vacant pasture, and tell her to wash her hands for dinner. You put the pie in the oven. You sit down to eat. When you've all eaten, you get your daughter's bath ready, and sit down with your enbroidery next to the bath tub. When you get your daughter to pick up her room, and go to sleep, you sit at the kitchen table and make a list for the next day. You make sure everything is picked up. Then you lay down in bed, feeling that even though it's a lot of work to run a homestead, you love it, and you can't wait to get up and do it again tomorow.



See, that's how I invision it. Now do you understand why I love it? I will do it one day, maybe not like that. Actually, probably a lot differant than that. But I will still love it.


-DarkHawk09