Lest I give the impression that there is no “slow down” on the farmstead, I thought I might better share those parts of our day, too.
Our kids aren’t little anymore. I’m retired. My husband is semi-retired. It’s the slowness we’re learning to cultivate now.
Our culture is frenetic. Value found in “busy, busy, busy”. I fall into that as much as the next person. It’s an effort, a constant evaluation and readjusting of our trajectory, to point our compasses in the direction of slowing down.
We don’t think we have to sit on our asses to chill, but that’s awfully nice sometimes, too. We spent the afternoon putting our garden to bed and spreading wood chips in freezing rain. With frozen fingers and toes, I came in, stoked the fire, and made myself a mug of dried mushrooms with decaf and heavy cream. Loyal dogs thawing out next to me, a couple of good books on my lap, a long braising goat roast filling my kitchen with the olfactory promises of a supper to delight.
Hubby is sitting in his tree stand. Something tells me he’s going to be lucky today. So, I’ll relish the bone penetrating heat of my wood stove fire a little more, knowing he may burst through the door at any moment, requesting my assistance at breaking down his deer.
Until then, here I will remain. Snoring dogs and a crackling fire lulling me into just the tiniest of naps. Just a few minutes,. A wee sliver of a nap, really. Hardly anything at all.
p.s. Any other people out there who are “challenged” by their overly exuberant affection giving dogs? I have never been so loved by a dog in my life as I am by my Great Dane. To make matters worse, our Border Collie gets jealous and runs around looking for gifts to bring me to earn his own dose of appreciation. Our thirteen year old Newfie just sleeps through it all. She’ll get to me when she damn well gets to me! She’s earned her rest, that one. Every second of it.