Land Breakers

I have snatched a few moments to collect my thoughts. Sometimes it is a matter of forcing yourself to write! All day I have had thoughts and breakthroughs while matching lost socks or scrubbing grout. When the screen opened to this blog applet, I almost recoiled at the blankness. I am not a diarist here, nor I am not an intellectual, or even a working writer anymore. My days are filled with the pottery business and motherhood and the endless chores a rural property demands. 

I have carved a little space in the study now that the kids have returned to school. It's a busy room. There's Andrei's fly-tying desk that has a roll-down lid which hides the hooks, feathers, wires, fur, small packets of foam, a vice, and lamps. Old oil paintings have made it into this room, as well as a spare bed and a large storage shelf which is erupting with school books and how-to guides. From cooking to gardening, to building a mud brick house, we are ready to be land breakers. 

The house seemed sparse when we moved in, and I liked it. I like the monasticism of a clean space, things tucked away out of sight. Walls bare. Surfaces empty. 

When we visited the property for the first time, the earth scared me. Even walking through long grass filled me with concern for unknown dangers. Then, as we laid claim to the earth, every tree and every corner of our block felt like a discovery or a small miracle. Time was slow and thoughts were hopeful. We weren't fully settled and sorted, and that was a good thing. We wanted to be part of the good things the earth could give us. Blackberries, mushrooms, long walks, slow Sundays. We didn't know many people and the demands on us were little.

The nebulousness of new things quickly passes, though. Spaces fill up. Time races ahead. We make friends and things which were unknown become known. 

I definitely need to tidy this room. But for the time being, I am content looking outside this study window. The sun has broken through cloud and a mother hen is fluffing out her feathers to catch a breeze. Her young chicks patter around her feet.