in my kitchen, around the farm
in my kitchen, around the farm
and then some
The truth of it is that I sit down here still not knowing what I’m going to write. This was to be one of my “in my kitchen, around the farm” posts - jaunty and light. But I don’t feel jaunty and light. I feel altogether different than that. I feel heavy and dark. A cave would do me better than my kitchen. And an unknown wilderness seems more suiting than my farm where cows moo at me to bring them apples and sheep want to be moved to fresh pastures and rabbits need bushels of freshly picked green feed. Everything is so dependant in the land of domestication.
When our daughter, Mila died… I still stare at those words in shock. But there they are just like here it is - always. I’ll try again. When our daughter, Mila, died a nuclear bomb detonated in our lives. Somehow in that debris, my husband, Troy, and I were able to scrabble together some sort of coherent frame of mind to put together a three