The 1801 :: up north and raw

In the north, the place of my growing up years, where maple trees fill almost every road side and two tracking is still popular. Providence brought me another set of skills gleaned and new lessons to learn.

Meet the 1801.

Where a little one runs through the hills barefoot and eats of berry patches freely. Where its normal to see her playing in the watering tank and climbing to heights that still make me gasp. Where chickens are hatched by the workings of the Creator, one clutch after another. The 1801, a farm in the making, with hopes of sustainable independence and growth.

Here, I milk for milk. Where I became fond of goats. Where I was able to perfect an udder balm that is marketable and share some of my herbal learning. Where I tasted raw goat cheese, butter and yogurt... and this is where we learned how to change the rotors on the jeep.

The 1801, a place skilled in the art of reuse it. Selling chicken eggs and fire wood bundles. Where home birth and mid-wives are welcomed, land foraging and heirloom seeds abound. Where I gleaned the ins and outs of community gardening as well.

It is where green house usage, planting for market gardening and getting a honest idea on how much land we would really need entered my dream. I became more aware of what I am capable of and what I am not, reminded often that I only have two hands and twenty four hours in a day.

I educated in the concept of pacing myself.

Here I am, with this desire... sometimes feeling like I was born to put my hands in the dirt. It will not go away, nor will the desire remain silent, and doing nothing... feels like something is starving.