Some people grow wings.
They want to see the world. Climb to the highest mountain. Travel to anywhere at any given time. All they need is a good wind and a couple of dollars and they fly away. They have adventures and seek excitement wherever they go. To live is to fly.
My sister is this way. She grew wings. She goes wherever she feels drawn. She’s an adventurer and I live vicariously through her photos. Beautiful pictures of places that I know in my heart of hearts that I will never see.
From her instagram account. Check it out!
Because I grew roots.
I am perfectly happy to stay planted in one place. To care for it and nurture it and bring it along. While a songbird takes only a season to grow her beautiful wings and fly away, a tree takes years to settle in, grow tall and produce fruit.
While she walks through Spain, or PEI, or takes breath taking photographs of sunsets over the ocean, I make tea and nurture my garden. I plant seeds and grow food, and prepare for cold days ahead. When the weather turns bad I hunker down in my warm kitchen, and spend evenings nestled infront of the wood stove. I drink tea, eat soup and plan out my garden for next year. She flies away, somewhere warm, somewhere far away from the storm that rages on here.
I dream of a life that will forever hold me in one place. She dreams of seeing everything.
I collect fresh eggs, milk goats, make all of the food that I can. She eats in foreign countries with views that I can’t even imagine.
I look to the sky for rain. She looks at it as an escape.
I will never understand wings. I need security I guess. Somewhere that I know is always waiting for me. My own bed at night. My usual schedule.
Mornings are slow. I roll out of bed and stumble out to the yard in a half sleepy haze, and one by one milk the goats. The warm smell of animal, the quiet sound of them munching grain, and the rhythmic cling-clang of the milk hitting the bucket brings to me life. The roosters crow, everyone gets their breakfast, water buckets are topped up, and hay feeders filled for the day. Somedays I like to just sit and watch them all for a few minutes as they meander through the yard. This is the fabric that makes up my life.
I make bread with the same old recipe, made the same old way, but it never ceases to bring me joy when I pull that finished loaf from the oven.
Coffee comes after milking time in the morning and I sip it while sitting on the front porch with Dan, soaking in the quiet moments before the day begins. The birds are singing, the roosters are crowing, but everything else is completely silent and still. There is just a taste in the air of the hot day that is to come.
Come late afternoon the kitchen becomes alive. I love to meander through the garden and pick herbs for the upcoming meal. A home grown roasted chicken with fresh herbs and mashed potatoes, or salad from the garden, or pizza made with last year’s sun dried tomatoes, fresh goat cheese, and sprinkled with oregano and basil picked just minutes before.
I suppose this life makes no sense to someone with wings. Why live the same way every single day? Why tie yourself down? There is a world to be seen and explored!
My goal was never to see the world, or have the office with the view from the 11th floor. My goal was always to build a life where I was happy. Where things were good. In a world full of so much bad, I wanted someplace that was simply….good.
Wings or roots – neither is better than the other. But for me, there is no place I would rather be than on my farm.
I grew roots.
3 thoughts on “I Grew Roots”
A beautiful and well said post and well enjoyed.
So glad you enjoyed it Martha!
April, enjoyed your article – it brought back memories of growing up on the farm and being with my Mother as she milked the cows. I was terrible at milking. I loved going in the stable in the winter with the cows and still remember the smells. Also we had chicken direct from the chicken house to the table as you have mentioned.