little suburb on the prairie

so, the book i was going to write has already been written. whoops, missed that boat. this was a fun one, if you're a bonnet girl. wendy mcclure takes the fandom to a new level.

oh, goddess, the wilder life was sort of the book i was going to write. i remember the day dreams i had of the little house world, the simplicity, the wide open prairies that were "an essence of a dream..."

wanting to go there, see it, smell it--

wanting to hear the creak of my family's wagon wheel, while the endless wind tousled the tops of virgin grasses.

little house represents what so many of us want: purity of purpose, freedom to roam, self-sufficiency and the forgotten skills involved, unhindered (un-enslaved?) by modern conveniences and convention.

so, the book i was going to write has already been written. whoops, missed that boat. this was a fun one, if you're a bonnet girl. wendy mcclure takes the fandom to a new level.

When did I know i'd be some sort of fanatical return-to-the-lander? anti-establishment-er?

as a teen, reading thoreau, whitman, and emerson: rational framework to earthen spirituality , i just love those home-grown transcendentalists. Of course there was london, who inspired me to halt all bathing (not that he ever publicly condoned such behavior) and commence praises for the Primordial Beast. Into the Wild was the cherry on top of my “evils of society/redemption through wilderness” sundae. but it goes even further back. I can't count how many times I read Hatchet by gary paulson or laura ingalls wilder's Farmer Boy and Little House on the Prairie. pair the themes in these books alongside an upbringing from a mother who was enraptured by rainbows and sunsets and a father as stoic and precise as an audubon field guide and it seems that me that my fate as earthy freedom seeker beet lover was set. (moon in sag. ;)  )

from a childhood picture book. "one of my favorite books." classy, dolly, classy. but it's probably still true.

NOT PICTURED: FARMER BOY. ooooh yeah. please read that one. every little detail of farming life is described in detail. I WAS INTO THAT AT 9 YEARS OLD!

farm stand.

scripture for me muses about the purity and magic of the natural world, and our place in it.

so we read earth lovers and wild hearts (whitman, kingsolver, dillard, abbey, berry)

those who revel in sprouting seeds and the glory of the quartered seasons.

the ills of society, convention, and convenience,

how little we produce,

and our dependence on the shrinking few who produce.

the novelty of people who spin, weld,

sew, can...

i see so many of my generation curious about these arts, (including myself) and i am heartened. it was a way to sustain life, larger than a hobby one enjoys after writing their blog or perusing netflix.

farm food.

deeply ingrained in me is a resistance to the conventional suburban lifestyle, and i'm sure many reject it on moral and aesthetic grounds.

but ...but.. there is the allure of the bourgeoisie... (dear, how does this cruise to maui sounds????) 

my brother joe just returned from a two year mormon mission in ohio, where he served in both sub/urban and rural areas. his favorite area? the one with all of the grocery stores and hip chain restaurants and plotted-out subdivisions with culdesacs and playgrounds... you know, Suburban Anywhere, USA

fuck it.

i'm ready for my cow. my blisters.

many times i feel like despairing, and the attachment to my ideals is the culprit.

farmer sandwich

living in the moment is what keeps me full, intact...

i nudge at the status quo, nay, i snarl at it. i wrap my babies in close to me .

i feel overwhelm infinitude at the state of the world

(INSERT ANY SOCIAL OPPRESSION, ENVIRONMENTAL/CLIMATE DISASTER, WAR, CORPORATE CONTROL)

what will their world look like? what can i do?

cutting the nut sedge from the asparagus patch.

letting go isn't the same as being apathetic. despair is not productive.

growing scobys.

hi-ho cherry-o, with a two year old.

tyler lives up to his name: bathroom tile that looks like wood.

just a little guy with tap shoes.

free hugz.

spider eggs.

apple season. (pssssst......DONUTS).

yep. :) s'bout time.

we have one last chapter in little house on the prairie. teddy and i read a chapter every night. this is our second go through the set and golly, it makes me happy to share it with teddy.

first day of school.

who here was shaped by prairie dreams?

let us part with thoughts on the coming equinox:

 september, meaning nothing but transition, axis, dimming, long shadows.

 nights collect a pooling cool.

 the only clue we have that the season is shifting is where the sun is sitting at seven in the evening.

 there's an urgency in the dryness.

 this is how i'm rooted to the earth: with wrapped arms.

happy full moon to all of my beloveds!

xoxo