in my kitchen, around the farm
It’s cold enough now that a fire burning in my living room is not only acceptable, but respectable. I can lounge here on the layers of wool and sheepskins below and around me, sipping on my warmed vanilla milk writing this missive with both a sense of indulgence and duty. What better a combination to strive for than those? It can be a hard one to achieve, but it’s worth the effort in finding it.
Later this evening, I will return to a project, a Christmas present I’m making with more wool, with my hands and my heart, and the loving intention I hold for a certain little someone, a two year old someone who will be spending Christmas with us this year on our little farm on our little corner of the world. That, too, is both an indulgence and a duty, a sacred duty I am most honoured to hold. Maybe I’ll make myself another warmed milk then.
Why have I become so beholden to warm milk anyway? And when did I start loving marmalade and bread and butter pickles and honey lemon tea in the middle of the afternoon? I remember being a little sprite, roaming the offerings at our large family gatherings over Christmas, scoping out the beautiful desserts and rarefied ribbon candy and caramels and taffy that lined the counters, coffee tables, and tables of our gatherings. And, always, there were those boxes of “After Eight” mints, each one in a silky black paper sleeve. Those were chocolates for old people, in my child’s mind. Who in their right mind would eat mint, the same stuff of toothpaste, when there were buttery caramels to wrestle with your fillings?
And here I am now, loving a thin cool mint and dark chocolate combo wondering when that happened. Maybe it is age after all. Maybe the tastes of nostalgia are just more delicious in this phase of my life. So I drink my warm milk, steamed with some organic vanilla bean and topped with homemade maple syrup marshmallows that have had a liberal dose of warming spices like freshly grated nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice, and mace added to them. The whole thing is a great pleasure to this woman sitting here in the twilight of this windswept snowy day, looking out the window in a house so silent the outside chimes and winds easily make their way in.
Christmas is coming and here in the land of Canada our postal workers are on strike. Over the years I’ve become progressively challenged by buying presents locally. Actually, it’s not just presents, it’s all manner of things. I’m a strong advocate of eating locally, “food from the farmer!”, but that’s actually easier than finding quality, natural clothing and various other items for the home. Here it’s an hour to get anywhere, but even then, what’s available is limited. There are some lovely stores for baby and children items. We have great places to get natural paints and home renovation supplies. I’ve purchased glasses from local glass blowers, pottery from