hiking without happy meals; a modern paradigm chronicling the struggles, pitfalls,
& successes of life, running, writing, urban farming,
& home schooling in these crazy modern days.
Life is our classroom.
I know this is going to cause a few grumbles from the Mercy Dog fans. And Ginger, the dog formerly know as Mercy, she is cute as shit, and sweet, and wonderful but I don't love her the way a dog deserves to be loved.
In fact every time I look at her it beaks my hearts for what I don't have, for who isn't here beside me.
Don't I have a enough of that in my life without having that with a dog?
I have to wonder out loud if this is fair to either of us.
The dog of my dreams is 4 feet under in the corner of my garden and having Ginger here every day looking at me and not being him is killing me slowly.
There is nothing to be done about it.
She lives here with us.
She loves us and most of us love her.
She carries the title of My Dog, at my feet, up my mountains, and sometimes I pick her up and hold her, tell her I love her becasue I want to so badly.
I suppose in some ways I do and in others I just can't.
I honestly thought loving a dog would be something simple like loving a man: effortless & unavoidable.
Turns out it is much more complicated than all that.
Baby Dog, you are going to have a good life here, don't mind me...
When we moved into the little farm house on 10th we didn't quite know what to do with all this land. We knew we wanted open space, garden space, trees, a green house & a grey-water system, and a hot tub.
Now in the olden days of moving in we had the milk cooling vat hooked up to a solar system for heating it. It worked fantastic 4 months out of the year when the days were hot enough to heat it and the night cool enough to enjoy it. We set it up in the middle of the yard and would streak naked (much to the dismay of our new Catholic Hispanic neighbors) from the house across the grass. They would stand at the fence shaking their heads laughing at the crazy white people.
A few months ago before the greenhouse frame went up Colby brought home a real hot tub, salvaged, working, & free.
What luck The Boy happens to be a hot tub expert with a little bartering and a little pity he is going to help Colby make the thing work for ME!
Okay not just for me but the last time the collective powers of the Brotherhood of Carpenters were summoned around here it was for the erecting of the stairs. After three weeks of climbing a ladder (freaky!!) to get to my bedroom it was well understood the three days of three men crammed together busting ass was for as they called it Misty's Stairs. So I think we can call this Misty's Hot Tub.... when Colby isn't listening.
the solar tub in the yard at our old house now our heat sink tub for the green house
What needed to happen was the green house had to go up, then a trench had to be dug. While he was at it Colby ran a trench for the water line to the garden too! Sweet.
My Father-in-Law is a Saint. He is always here helping out on days like these.
Yeah so Josh (aka The Boy), I know you were just down here fixing my washer, kneeling on the concrete floor on your bad knee but look what happened after you left...there was some serious follow through going on here in the valley or we have ourselves some big fucking gophers. Either way it looks like with your help I'm getting a hot tub in that green house this winter. Look at that trench!!! It is a hole of happiness!
The morning started as all others with coffee and pink clouds.We had a white rabbit sighting in the yard and a ‘poopy’ who didn’t quite make it through the night.We had oatmeal, PBS kid, and more coffee.
I had been waiting for today ever sense Wednesday when I began thinking every day was Sunday.It has been Sunday for 5 days in a row.But as I stood in the kitchen by the wood stove the little scientist nowhere to be seen or heard something didn’t seem quite right.
I worked out and showered.
There is a note pinned to the shelf in the shower.It is an apology from a child for using my good homemade coffee soap to wash doll clothing.It says: don’t tush [translation: touch] unly for mom.I think you’ve got ‘unly’. Tush makes me laugh.
It reminds me of Conner three years old sitting, pouting, in a yellow sequined ballet dress which belonged to his older sister.One of the little babies I keep during the day crawled over to him drawn no doubt by the sparkly dress.Conner indignantly pulled his skirt away and in his most serious cowboy voice he growled, “Don’t touch me in my girl dress baby!”
As it turns out there is nothing wrong with this day, it is just me. I need a little perspective from somewhere in the grey.