December : warm blooded and fairy-lit

dead froglet   a dinner of briars   graphic plantsDecember : I have seeds in my pockets, noticeably longer hair tied back with a sharp sliver of bamboo, and a niggling worry that I now smell like the enthusiastic Billy Goat who is doing time with my ladies. I have plans, plants to propagate, books to read, manure to wheelbarrow, leaves piled up and plenty more leaves to collect. I have tools I covet, hand tools made by hand to make things with wood, and bigger tools that would need plenty electricity like a band saw and a belt sander and perhaps a lathe to play around with wood and metal. I need a new hot water bottle and I hope they still have the ones I like in the hardware I got my now deceased one.
I now have a few patients and am learning to work as an Homeopath : as in my life, I am apprenticing and being. The wind out there won’t blow me away from myself.


  1. Heehee. My daughter worked at a goat dairy one year and told me about the males’ modus operandi to attract the females. She has a sweater that she says still smells like goat. I don’t notice it though. Your make winter and farming both sound so appealing. Good luck with your work as a homeopath. That’s exciting!

    • Thank you !
      What farming life does for me (starting with a plain fondness for the countryside, nature, silence, etc.) is to save me from the temptation of Existential Angst as a depthening (?) agent for my personality. In Paris it is what you are taught to do. Instead, at all times, I know my existence has a purpose : fix that shed ! clear that drain ! plant that tree ! feed that animal !
      I do get exhausted, fed up and frustrated (as for instance by my failure to get adequate gloves in my minute hand size), but nothing that a couple of good nights’ sleep won’t cure. And a lot of daylight hours spent actively outdoors make one quite fond of one’s bed, especially in the winter. I guess winter means something else altogether for you in your southern abode… Enjoy ! (especially if you do end up back up North in the near future).

      • That makes sense about the existential angst in Paris. The term must have been coined there after all. Even just eating the way I do (I ferment a lot, cook from scratch, no corporate food) and writing my blog gives me purpose. I think a farm would even more so. We officially have winter here in Northern California, but that means the farmer’s market sells mostly root vegetables and I have to wear an extra sweater or even a coat (so nothing like back home in Canada).

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