I finally got here. Through a few half-hearted attempts, a couple of false starts, and an undercurrent of resistance, I have submitted to the idea that this is the blog I'm supposed to write.
It's not that I don't want to, mind you. I even started another blog, just for kicks. It's just that I find it hard to believe that I actually qualify as some source of reliable information on anything. I know lots of women who really know about small-scale farming, starting seeds, raising livestock and cooking great food. Me? I'm just making it up as I go along.
While an urban homestead seems quaint and romantic, the reality is that it's a lot of work and a lot of responsibility. Can't just walk away for a weekend for a break, because there are animals to feed and gardens to water. Dedicated to sourcing good food for your family? Then you have to take an honest look at how screwed up our industrial food system is, and baby, it ain't pretty.
While I love this life and I cherish the opportunity I have to step out of cookie-cutter suburbia, it can be sobering. I felt an expectation to write about glowing sunsets, the joy of mucking out a chicken coop and the bliss of canning my own food. Honestly, sometimes it's all a little more than I think I'm qualified to tackle.
But here I am, working out the possibility and the reality, all with an attitude this side of irreverent. Granola crunchy? Not so much. Granola Sassy? That's more like it. Pull up a chair.
