Parallelograms of light

La Casette by Louis-Jean Cormier

In the narrative of my life, I consider last new year a time of crisis about my house. In particular the unfinished renovation that had no timeline (which stresses me out but which is imperative for my husband to function). The crisis didn't resolve per se, but my soul did get tired of thinking about it.

I fell out of love with my house, and I stopped updating the blog with as much frequency as I had maintained in the past. 

This numb resolve has carried me through one harvest season, which seemed surprisingly easy. I keep opening my pantry and freezer to expect an empty space void of the goodies of life, but alas I've managed to put up jams, pickles, stewed tomatoes and so many other local delicacies (with the help of my mother) that it seems the inconveniences I associated with homesteading are now smoothing over. 

I have a routine, I see the light, this is normal. I eat the bread I make, I drink the tea I picked, there is always something to be cooked up with the seemingly random collection of raw foodstuffs in the fridge.

YET. I think this online journal has so much worth. I feel bad for not updating it, since I know I will appreciate having the timeline in the future. The heirloom garlic we moved, the small trees we've planted, the incremental improvements to our space, the adventures. So. Check these out.

Cranberries from our bog (preserved as salsa and fruit leathers)

We are halfway finished this job:

Garlic planted (I've lapsed for two years)

Last of the garden harvested

Good raspberry year (bad apple year)

Bread in my only oven (tiny convection oven purchased from classified ads for $10)

Tearing off the barn roof under floodlights on a  Sunday night (nice outfit)

Outside Fire

Inside Fire