Off Griddedness

Last week, in the middle of the night, Neil was suddenly, inexplicably stricken with the worst headache he'd ever had. It was instant onset, and followed by vomiting.  For this reason, he was rushed into hospital, but it never came to much and they decided he was ok, without so much as a scan.

Like my own health scare a few months back, this has made us think and talk, which can only be a good thing.

It has always been our hearts' desire, and our honest understanding of God's call on our life, to live simply, to the point of off grid if necessary. To hold space for the land, to honour a covenant.

We have turned our dreams into chores, and thus have we marched upon them in muddy boots, but they are our dreams, and on dreams, as we all know, we should tread softly.

The time now is to take joy.  In an instant, one evening, while hurriedly doing the chore of shutting up these darlings ...

... we suddenly decided to turn it into the great joy of spending time together, at dusk on a summers evening, enjoying the company of our beloved goats. Everything lifted.

We can do this. We can take the mundane and make it a hymn of praise. We can delight in our hours, how ever many, however few.

Today, at lunchtime, I rapidly peeled down a courgette from the polytunnel into 'courgette pasta' and steamed it in butter with a fresh egg from the rescued hens. It was sublime.

as I work, during the day, I pluck tomatoes and munch on them, their sun warmed sweetness, makes me smile.

I am blessed beyond measure that all of these things, we can share, in love, regardless of the outside world. We could live off grid if we needed to. To that end, we have decided to redouble our efforts to fit out the caravan at the field, in order that on long summer days, and inhospitable winter nights, we will have a safe shelter where we belong.

Through the Looking Glass

You get it. You have a moment of brilliant clarity. You know what you must do. But you can't. Yet.

This happens to me all the time. Today I went to the doctor. The main issue having been dealt with, she cunningly cut to the chase - my slightly obsessive fear of cancer.

My father died of cancer, my mother died of cancer. Last year, my brother died. Of cancer. I am a bit obsessed. I admit it.

Now, today was the day a doctor told me, good food, more exercise, less stress ... and actually applauded our raw milk. Good grief. She recommended that I buy a book - an anti cancer book - and I came home, and looked at it online and realised, it was not a book I needed. It was in fact, a simplified, general public sort of a book, on a subject about which I have read at heavyweight, insider level and into which I have waded in real life ... but somehow ... I lost it.

The real deal is 'Nourishing Traditions' and I immediately knew. I had it. I needed to reclaim the joy we had in that most radical of expressions of freedom - the growing, rearing, fermenting, preparing, loving of your own food.

How is it we have these insights, as part of our own intentional journey, and then - well - lose them?

So I come home, filled with joy, passion and a reclaimed understanding of my mission. Only to realise that we have the family visiting this weekend, as well as a horse show to go to, and what I actually have to do, for the moment, is turn out the vast quantities of food I've planned for the weekend, yes planned, mind you - at my lowest ebb of intentionality - not even going to list it all - I have however just peeled, parboiled and frozen in bags, 80 potato pieces which over the course of the weekend will be mashed, boiled, roasted - and I have puddings (spelt, yes, and honey, but even so ...) and peanut butter cookies stacked high. Oh dear.

Now, this is always happening to me. I know what I must do. But there's a stack of committments between me and ... it.

About to go into a tailspin of self pity, I realised, hey. We eat at least two or three meals a week produced entirely by US. (That's us, with God's grace) The meat, the eggs, the milk, the vegetables, the bread (OK, not growing the grain yet) We grew it all. I lost it a bit. But it's not the end of the world. I still have children who prefer not to eat shop bought bread at all, and eat raw vegetables for fun.

And my goat herd is about to be registered and named (watch this space) and I am going to get fresh, local vegetables into the hot little mits of local children if it kills me. So it's not all bad!