I feel a need to note that when I was growing up, my dream was to move to Toronto. I would be in business, my husband would be a lawyer and we would live in a lovely condo that came with a delightful cleaning lady. There were no children but several pairs of shoes. The kitchen would be fantastic but never used because we would only eat out.
I am unclear where I took a wrong turn because I live in a town of less than 2200. There are no stop lights, no sidewalks, no five star restaurants and if one wants to go shopping, there is a Fields where nothing is more than $20. Grocery shopping for even three items takes an hour. You have to visit with everyone. Even during a pandemic. In a small town, everyone knows your name. Chances are, you will be called out on some scandal. Likely it won’t be true but in a small town, reality TV is played out in the supermarket. I’m hoping that someone might think I am having an affair! The chances are slim to none but in small town gossip, to think that someone might be sweet on me at age 52, I will take that call to fame!
However, I am not having an affair. I am also not in Toronto in my condo with my lawyer husband and my cleaning lady. I am in BFN (bum f@ck nowhere) with Grizzly Adams as my husband, our three children, two dogs, one cat and an abundance of unfinished projects. Also, I seem to have taken on the role of the cleaning lady.
In a condo, I would have had double closets. In rural BC, I have chickens.
The Chickens…..Mabel, Mavis, Beatrice, Gertrude
We named them, we talked to them and they would join us on the deck for cocktails.
A bear arrived. The chicken coop was nature’s version of “KFC” and take out. It is a myth that black bears are vegetarian. They aren’t.
Since we had become attached to the “ladies”, it was sad to just find their feathers. We could imagine them talking. “Has anyone seen Beatrice?” “She was just here”
My husband was particularly indignant. We raised these chickens from the moment they arrived in a box on the bus. We brought them home and for their first weeks, we raised them in Tupperware inside the house. They were kind of like pets. I know, that is just so weird but true and when they were under attack, my husband pulled out the big guns. Literally.
Wayne spent hours waiting for the bear. He was going to protect the “girls” but that bear was tricky. It was almost as though he knew when the “hunter” needed to “rehydrate” and leave his post.
Farming means losses. We have watched bears use our coop as “take out”, cougars hunt for fun and much to our chagrin, our new puppy thinking the chickens were playthings. Imagine feather pillows…..
But back to what I thought my life was going to look like and what it actually is. It’s a pandemic, the world is upside down, I’ve joined the ranks of the unemployed and I have embraced food security.
Since I have a new found abundance of time, a growing sense of panic for the future coupled with a potential addiction to a cocktail hour that starts at noon, I really felt I needed to revise my focus.
Many might take this opportunity to indulge in yoga or some sort of peaceful practice that would invoke inner harmony. I likely had one too many glasses of wine and ordered pigs. I also ordered 40 more chickens (meat birds….yes, they will eventually be housed in the freezer), 24 laying hens, 72 tomato plants, a redneck version of a greenhouse plus new gumboots. Clearly, I should ease up on the wine.
I can cope with chickens, tomatoes, a greenhouse and new gumboots but pigs??? What was I thinking?
They have arrived at 30 pounds and it is anticipated that we will butcher at 300 pounds. Did you catch that? I easily said “butcher at 300 pounds”. Here’s the problem. I don’t know how to butcher a pig and I have real concerns that Wayne’s version will be messy!
Where the hell is the cleaning lady and my condo and how did I end up learning how to disembowel a chicken? I think it’s also appropriate to mention that I don’t even like pork!
So where does this leave me? Well, I vowed at the beginning of the year to be brave. I promised myself that I would challenge myself to take on new projects and learn new things. Likely I was thinking more along the lines of poetry and trying new cocktails but too late now.
My true confession is that I actually believe in food security and I worry about borders and food quality and international relations. Likely it is far fetched but This pandemic is generating feelings of paranoia but it is also the catalyst to wanting a new sense of community feeling self sufficient. Overnight it felt like a darkness came and stole our lives and robbed us of our means. This pandemic has taken various forms of prisoners and left no one uninjured. Self sufficiency on even the smallest scale feels like regaining a sense of control while the world is still spinning madly.
Everything is changing and large food production plants are closing down due to health concerns. The government has confirmed bridging aid but there is a small murmur that suggests we give up our fetish for shoes and trade them for gumboots. A backyard garden is a powerful source of sustenance. There might even be some newfound satisfaction in providing not only for ourselves but also for each other.
It seems impossible that we live through a pandemic that crushes the global economy and not emerge with new thoughts and new skills and perhaps a new outlook. What if we found new ways to look after each other and it was granular and basic and was delivered as baskets of freshly picked lettuce or maybe homemade bread or jam? What if our healing took place in the earth? Where our hands connected with dirt and we watched it sift through our fingers and we took satisfaction in planting and caring and growing? I think I need this healing. These quiet moments when the tending of gardens and animals immerse me in something greater than dreams of a condo and a closet of shoes.
I can’t say I’m expert because I’m not. I am used to being busy and being “productive” but lately I have been drifting and feeling a tad lost. I am hoping that by learning how to create from seed, will give me a renewed sense of soul.
It intrigues me that as the weeks of “self-isolation” pass, new life lessons emerge. It echoes what I “thought” I would be versus who I am “becoming”. My connection to the earth and food source is actually quite freeing. I used to depend on the “economy” but that clearly didn’t work out. I am wondering if I have to learn how to rely on myself? Frick. That’s a game changer for sure. I wasn’t always sure of myself and was often found looking for “Easy Street” and now I have pigs. I think of the iconic movie “Sliding Doors” and wonder what my moments will be. Fate or said destiny? Maybe it is just the deeper yearning that is starting to take hold?
So. The pandemic saw me clean my house, fight off waves of panic, embrace day drinking and now I feed pigs. It’s week 6. I am nervous as to what week 12 might bring. However, if I was totally honest, I would also admit that being “still” and doing “nothing” is hard but calming. I feel drawn to the silence and feel its ok to enter the abyss of the “the wondering” of what’s next.
BC (Before Covid19) I always rushed. I pedaled fast and the scenery of my life was nothing but a blur. I just went along for the ride. I lost that part of me that believed in my dreams. After all, aren’t I “too old” to change, to reroute and restructure a life that seems “fine”?
And then it all stopped. The pandemic arrived and now there is no rush and what was a blur is clearly in focus. The stopping has allowed me to hear that whisper that calls for new growth. I wonder if I shifted too far when I took my life turn. I look in wonder at a new grounding that is taking place all around. I see deeper relationships with family, friends even with oneself. I feel a tilting towards balance and a sigh of relief.
I vowed to be brave this year. I am scared to be unemployed and to lose my badge that comes with a title on a business card but as I work through my fear, I find new courage to meet myself on new levels. I wonder if I actually might like myself more?
I dreamed of Toronto and I find myself with pigs. Life is funny that way. Maybe Forest Gump really had it right when he said “life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you are going to get”.
I never thought I would get chickens or pigs or even kids and yet, I do and they are all an adventure.
I am still scared. I wish they would tell me what happens at the end of a pandemic. If this were a book, I would totally skip to the end. I wish I knew when “normal” would return and I sure wish I could hug those I deeply care about. I feel adrift because I crave connection but I console myself with the fact that maybe my best new connection is now with myself.
I wish you peace amongst the chaos and love with yourself and with others. I’m going to believe that it’s going to be ok. May we each grow something new and try something with courage.
With care and love,
Shelley
And Then I Jumped...... 