A blog is an inherently egotistical enterprise, as is any memoir or self portrait or even just rolling out of bed, polishing up the various unruly bits and stinking up the world with opinions and status updates and the like. It all makes me a bit uncomfortable, this "having a voice" business. But, at the same time, I can't seem to shut up so a blog seems like another good medium for making a fool of myself. (Side note: As I write this, a slender spider is starting its morning web beside me. As it spins and weaves for its survival, I could swear it was doing so with a little self-satisfied flare. Its long legs are curling around its thread in a delicate dance that can only be described as joyfully self-aware. OK, maybe it could be described differently but this is my blog and I am trying to justify this exercise in narcissism so I say that even the spiders enjoy some healthy self admiration.) So, what direction should I point this shiny, new blog? What great wisdom should I impart? With what amusing anecdotes shall I entertain? Do the people of the world need my recipe for Savory Pie a.k.a. Harvest Quiche a.k.a. "That Again, Mom?" (Comment your vote) Should I detail the clumsy (and costly) path of dumb luck that led me to this charming farm with its beautiful, crumbling old barn and its fickle trickle of a creek? Or should I thank the people who didn't openly laugh when I told them our plan for living off the land? (I'm lookin' at you, Mom and Dad). Well, this is a homesteading blog on our farm's public website, so I'll at least try to temper my opinions on foreign affairs (of which I have a lot) and on Hollywood gossip (of which I have none). Any future fashion category will be limited to Carhartts (who need to improve their women's line, BTW) and Bogs Boots (which go with absolutely anything, I say). Likewise, any horoscopes will be plagiarized directly from the Farmer's Almanac. I might also have some Feng Shui design ideas for stuffing old feed sacks into every possible corner and for reusing baling twine to engineer chic tomato trellises, gate latches, and hair ties. And, as my favorite shovel knows, I've also got plenty of material for some head-in-the-clouds philosophizing and some down-to-earth moralizing, You wouldn't believe the ideas one can dream up (and mutter) while turning a compost pile. So stay tuned, people. This blog feels like it might get real Ladies' HomeSTEAD Companion on you, complete with an inadvisable advice column. Why not? I'm always writing down the profoundly absurd quotes from my life that should perfectly illustrate some questionable parenting tips, marital advice, and survival techniques (the latter two being mostly interchangeable). My family says (nervously) that they're willing and this is a family farm, so it's perfectly on topic. I'll leave you today with a little teaser of what's possible to come: A Quote from Barn on the Creek Farm to Illustrate the Art of Crisis Management: Tune in next time, patient readers. I'll be sure to anthropomorphize more invertebrates and detail the cost/benefit analysis of DIY fence-building. SPOILER ALERT: Staples for fence post-inflicted head wounds cost $750; no lasting brain trauma: priceless.
3 Comments
|
AuthorSome people buy a gym membership. I haul 25 pound bags of alpaca manure a quarter mile up a hill to my garden. (And I like it). Archives
April 2019
Categories
All
|