Saturday, January 27, 2007
Plain and Simple Joy
Last night the sky was a changing backdrop of a magnificent show in the sky. Hawks soaring over my head, and crows chasing the hawks as they often do. At first the clouds reminded me of some rather poorly done painting, the kind you look at and think, "the colors are all wrong", but maybe they weren't after seeing this evening sky. A front was on the way in and soon the clouds transformed into piles of gray cotton balls. The joy from this simple act of sky gazing will remain with me for days. I hopped into the car and drove to a place that gives full view of the sky in all directions. I was not disappointed at all and later I drove a mile or so down the road to the duck pond. They sky had changed to a solid mass of gray by that time but the ducks were fun to watch even if the sky had turned rather pale.
I carried this sight with me in my heart, the rest of the night. So much better than watching some violent movie.
The morning sun soon woke me, I slept in late this morning and enjoyed every single minute of it.
The weather report says cold and rain, snow, sleet on the way this coming week, so I got busy putting wash in and will have the lines full long before lunch time. I felt the need to feel homestead-ish or old fashioned today. It feels comforting to me to dress in a long skirt, long heavy winter slip with rows of tucks at the hem. I like the feel of a skirt at my ankles. Perhaps a left over from another period in our life on the farm. I pulled on heavy wool socks and laced up my work boots. Gave my wet hair a brushing, smelling the scent of the home-made soap I used to wash my hair with.
Today I miss having goats to milk. Maybe that came from putting bag balm on my hands today to chase away the dryness of winter on my skin. The smell from that green container brings to mind many fond memories of milking the goats and spreading this gooey stuff on their udders to protect against the cold. We learned long ago how nice it makes the skin on your hands from all those years of milking.
Smoke from the chimney is curling down to the tops of the window, little twists of gray. Another simple joy.
I would miss seeing so much sky or the way the pasture looks when I gaze out the back door if I had to live in the city. I would miss the sound of the chickens clucking in their own sort of joy as they lay another egg, or the sound of Solomon the rooster crowing as morning arrives and the rather teenage boy sounding crowing of the young rooster, who is still nameless. God put me just where I need to be.
It is a silent sort of morning, sitting next to the wood stove in my rocker, watching the birds outside my windo...