So, my husband and I have some friends who live up in North Pole, outside of Fairbanks, Alaska. This is a couple in their 90’s who have been married for over 70 years now, and since we, too would like to live together into our 90’s, are interested in adopting some of our friends’ lifestyles. Mainly, to get the hell out of Anchorage and to put less stuff in our coffee.
Robert and I love to doctor our coffee with honey and cream. Not creamer, which is some nasty chemical concoction which is found in either liquid or powdered form. No. We like cream, either full strength, half & half or, lately, whole milk. It’s tasty and delicious and really good for you. I have another friend who has taken to blending coconut oil into hers, but without the honey. When visiting, we’ve tried it that way, but with the addition of her bees’ honey and a little raw cream, and it is amazing! Sweet, creamy, silky. Coffeelicious heaven in a cup. But only one! Our friends in North Pole have a rule where they doctor the first cup of the day and any coffee after that is black. Black! We tried it yesterday and it was very successful…at curtailing our intake of beverage. Of course, that could be good for us too, right? Maybe.
The other issue is for us to move out of the city of Anchorage and out to the country. We have a small farm in our back yard with raised beds and chickens, a raspberry patch and compost. We want to go a little bigger and try to feed ourselves a little more and support ourselves. It’s the new dream, isn’t it? So many people are opting out of the rat race and we’re no exception. I already have with my occupation as a massage therapist but it’ll have to include my husband as well. Two hoses pulling as a team get the wagon where it needs to go faster and more efficiently. If you’re working against each other, you may as well just pull alone! And it’s good that our dreams align because I’d rather live with my husband in a cardboard box than in a mansion without him.
Anyway, that’s today’s plan on a healthier lifestyle. The coffee is calling.
The sunflowers are at half-mast, having been cut down by an early hard freeze and constant rain and overcast skies for weeks since, seed heads a soggy, mushy mess instead of becoming winter treats for chickens. The garden itself has become a treat for the chickens. I let them in every spring to help till up the dirt and fertilize, and every autumn to clean up stalks, leaves and whatever is left over from harvest. This year, that’s been a lot of stuff due to the frost.
Today’s blue skies are the first I’ve seen in a long while, so it’s time to take down my tent greenhouse and pack it away for the winter. To wash black plastic pots of their dirt and let them dry in the sunshine, then be stacked and put away in the shed until next year. To pluck what’s left of the small, sweet carrots out of their raised bed and make a nice roast in the crock pot tomorrow.
That’s enough chores for me today. My husband has the job of trying to coax soppy nuggets of dog shit onto a shovel with the stake of some political hopeful’s yard sign from last year. Those stakes are pretty useful around here, unlike whose names are on the signs they came on.
Later, when all is done, I’ll make Irish coffee and cocoa and we’ll sit in what’s left of the garden and watch the chickens.
I’m hoping for a spectacular sunset.
I had an early morning dream wherein I was picking cherries but had nowhere to put them except my hands. There were smaller, bright red, tart pie cherries along with dark red and sweet eating cherries, staining my fingers purple. I think I was eating them in my sleep. Across the yard was a house, a beautiful old Craftsman style with wood and deep forest green paint tucked into the trees. It looked like summer but the air was crisp as Alaskan autumn, as there had already been frost. However, as I was moving branches aside looking for cherries, there was a bird’s nest in one with a couple of fledged babes in it looking at me and they didn’t fly away as I gently let go of the branch. I went to the house to look for a container for my cherries and realized that it was a clubhouse for my friend Yael and I and our families. When I got there, the door was open but it wasn’t supposed to be for some reason. Anyway, it gets confusing and jumbled after that with dirty kitchens and helping pregnant women who have nothing, kids with sticky fingers and stuff of that nature.
The accompanying picture was taken while cherry picking this summer.
New thought: I think if you’re hell bent on giving out information about yourself consistently on the internet, perhaps facebook isn’t the place to do it. Perhaps starting a blog is a more appropriate outlet. The difference being that when you increase traffic on facebook, they are profiting from it by way of selling your likes and information to whomever is buying. When you blog, you’re paying but it’s for you, you have a vested interest, you may even profit from it. But it is ALL yours.
Indeed. Although it is not quite October 15th here in Anchorage. Not for another 3 hours.