A beautiful day to be out there farming… definitely am Irish sort if day :)
Tag Archives: farm
Today, I truly feel like a farmer’s wife again. As I sit here, I have a pot of Hermit Soup (a name I’ve just given it… for fun) on the stove – to be served with buttery slices of crusty Killruddery cheese bread.
Jurgis is snoring in front of the fire, sinking ever lower into the couch. We have spent the dark afternoon time watching videos on permaculture planning and design, drawing up elaborate plans involving chickens, vegetables, fruit trees and forests. At this point, I’m relatively content.
It’s out second day at The Cottage in the Wicklow mountains. We woke up to what we thought was a thick frost layer this morning. It was, instead, thin, icy snow and it stayed. Needless to say, I slipped on an icy log. I consider the place now initiated into my stability. No harm was done, though my dignity suffered yet another blow.
I set up the compost bin today and frittered away 10 minutes picking up pine cones, which are now, hopefully, drying out nicely over the fire. If not, they look decorative(ish). Jurgis has started clearing the pine. That will be a major job. We’ll need to get some serious equipment in to clear the part we’ve demarcated for the veggies and fruit trees. Right now, cleaning and clearing is about as much as we can do… at least until we get to see the owner again. He was meant to arrive last night, then today… maybe tomorrow. Time will tell. I have an internet bone to pick with him *Needs Internet*. The cottage is warm. Barring a fairly serious plumbing issue that was meant to be sorted out today (I think the plumber got lost or something), we’re fairly comfortable. It’s a huge change from the ‘palace’, but has its own compensations.
So why hermitage? We’re about 4km away from the nearest village, Roundwood, which boasts a population of 800+ and 5 pubs. Yes, it’s like that. We’ve met one of the local population, a chap who came to drop the top halves of a few pines that were threatening to fall on the cottage. He was nice and is now a familiar face. We’re considering a walk into the village on the weekend to see what it’s like and perhaps meet a few locals.
Life, at this point, is pretty good. Now if I could just get online… I’m missing talking to my little girl.
I found this article recently and it got me thinking. Actually, it doesn’t do much to get me thinking of our dream. A while back, Kippy and Jaime wanted me to talk about my perfect home. Then just recently, someone mentioned being envious of a life of ease. I often say "I’m jealous" and you’ll usually find it’s relating to a certain way of life… a life we’d love to live again, a truly simple life.
"We embark on a career path or a job before we really know ourselves at a very early age, but I think we’re still a work in progress and over the course of your life you can stitch together a quilt of what you want to be and who you want to be." Lisa Schwartz
Now, if I were envious of a lifestyle, it’s the one this lady has built for herself. That is a dream!
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A couple more videos of people starting over and fulfilling a dream… truly inspirational! I’ve linked to the videos, so I don’t overload this page for those with slow connections:
Gypsy (back), Vilkas (left) and Noble (front right), our 3 Muskateers. Gypsy was the older, sensible one, who kept the brats in check. To the left was the raspberry patch – wild and thorny, but a thrill to harvest. Through the gateway behind them was the stand of mulberry trees, kids’ paradise, and beyond that, the stream. The dogs were lying under the pretty, but infernal Tibouchina tree – the leaves, when dry, make excellent dye *sigh* It never comes out!
For those new to my list or those who missed the original post, this blog speaks about the life we came from, which is poles apart from the life we’re in now. We’ll have that again : )
Last night, Tat and I were chatting. A possible hermitage came up, but she’s not the hermit type, being gregarious and all that. We settled on farming with goats, who are pretty cool critters, with Jurgis taken along as slave labour, something he seems to thrive on. Ah… now there’s a life, hm?