We passsed our one year anniverary on the homestead just over a month ago. Celebrating a specific day doesn't seem quite right. It's more like a season. We moved here in the early summer and those first few weeks were such a shock. When I talk longingly about those first few weeks in the camper, Mike reminds me of how easily I've forgotten just how hard it was. The relentless rain. The mosquitoes biting all night. The end of the rain and then the drought. The heat in the middle of an open field. The dynamics of living in a pop up camper with five people. Our oldest son leaving when he turned eighteen, trying to find his way in the world. The uncertainty of being self employed artists.
Oh, I haven't forgotten.
I also remeber waking up every single morning to watch the sun rise and the deer graze in our field. The sounds of nature right outside the camper's screen; the frogs and the crickets. The smell of dew on the grass. Growing food. Still not enough, but more than we ever have before. Building a house with our own two hands. Going to bed at mosquito time and reading by candle light. "Best and worst", a nightly ritual we all had to find the good in the day as well as acknowlege the difficult moments and work to make them better.
Day by day it got easier.
We don't do best and worst on a nightly basis anymore.
This life has changed us. We all agree, and could never go back to the way things used to be.
And, as we like to boast... we made it through the fifth coldest winter on record and we didn't die.