October 13, 2012
while I was e-stalking my hero, Bronwen. This woman has a kick-ass website, great photos, makes beautiful and durable jewelry, travels like mad, rock climbs, yogas, sails, and writes beautiful blogs about it… Basically, I want to be her when I grow up. A me version of her, of course.
AND she’s got great taste in poetry – she had The Invitation on her site.
I read the book The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer during my work breaks back in my Anthropologie days. Beautiful soul truth:
THE INVITATION – ORIAH MOUNTAIN DREAMER
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love, for your dreams,
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow,
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain,
mine or your own, without moving to hide it
or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own.
if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy
fill you to the tips of your fingers
and toes without cautioning us
to be careful, be realistic,
remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty every day,
and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live,
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone,
and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what
or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself,
and if you truly like the company
you keep in the empty moments.
September 21, 2012
This week I heard someone say that trees generate wind so they can talk to each other.
This idea completely fascinated me. What if it were real! How much more magical would it be to live in a reality where the trees create wind in order to talk, rather than the wind being caused, unintentionally, by differences in temperatures due to the sun.
Yes, it’s also fascinating that we’re on a giant spinning ball that gets partially warmed by photons of light that take 8.5 minutes to reach us from a gigantic flaming star, but still… I want talking trees. I want intention. I want consciousness.
Living in Patagonia I loved the sound of the wind in the tall golden cottonwood trees, and here in Italy I’ve had a pine tree outside my bedroom window that makes a lovely rushing sound in the night.
Perhaps it’s not just air moving through the needles. Perhaps that sound is the voice of the tree, as it chats with the olive trees on the hillside, and the giant fig tree that spreads along the fence.
Perhaps they’re talking.
I wonder what they’re saying?
June 1, 2012
I asked for a sign, and I got it.
But the problem with asking for a sign is that when you get one, you still have to make the choice:
Do I follow it?
Do I base my life and future on magic and synchronicity and trust? Or do I follow reason and rationality and logic?
I almost gave in. I almost went the safe route and went home, back to the States and my family. But instead I chose to follow the signs.
(This is an extremely long post – probably the longest I’ve ever written – so if you don’t have the time or inclination to read the entire thing, scroll down to the end for the punchline!)*
BILL MOYERS: “Do you ever have the sense of… being helped by hidden hands?”
JOSEPH CAMPBELL: “All the time. It is miraculous. I even have a superstition that has grown on me as a result of invisible hands coming all the time – namely, that if you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. When you can see that, you begin to meet people who are in your field of bliss, and they open doors to you. I say, follow your bliss and don’t be afraid, and doors will open where you didn’t know they were going to be.”
I’ve been nomadic since June 2011, driving across the US and Canada before flying south to Buenos Aires, Argentina in October 2011, and then heading even further south into Patagonia in April 2012.
“Don’t fall off,” my ex business partner warned me. “You’re running out of land.”
He said I was running away. Perhaps. But running away from one thing is running toward something else.
What am I running towards? Myself. I know that’s a silly thing to do when I’m right here with me all the time. But I see this journey I’ve been on as a process of lightening. Across the continents I’ve left a trail of fears, guilt, obligations, and ‘shoulds’, and who I am and what I want is coming into sharper focus.
I’ve been lucky enough to have a little unemployment from California funding my journey. When I signed up after being “liberated” from my day job in March 2011, I was told I’d get 99 weeks, about two years of what my friends have termed “funemployment.”
Two weeks ago, about 53 weeks into the 99, the Federal Government announced they were cutting all extended unemployment benefits to Californians. Effective immediately. My cash flow stopped suddenly, eight months before I expected it to.
I’d known my unemployment could end at any minute – I could’ve been called in for an interview in California – so the news wasn’t a total shock. But it did change my plans for the rest of 2012.
Luckily, serendipitously, synchronistically, I have a few thousand in the bank.
I have never had a few thousand in the bank. I’ve always lived paycheck to paycheck, and I’ve had credit card debt since I began traveling to Italy once or twice a year during a long-distance relationship in college.
But I made the decision to be “financially free” (ie debt free) in 2010 and stopped using the credit cards. This year, I had a perfect opportunity to cut down more of the debt – I had the unemployment coming in, I got a good tax return, I received a few grand from my father’s death, and I chose to take a job in a remote town in Patagonia that covered all room/board expenses for a few months so I could focus on paying down bills. Nothing to spend money on out here, not even a restaurant.
Within my first month down in Patagonia, and just before unemployment ended, I’d paid off every card but one. For fixed expenses I’m down to one credit card, one hospital bill (from the rabid bat incident last summer) and my college loan.
So, synchronistically, the unemployment couldn’t have stopped at a better time. I had some money and low monthly expenses.
Now What Do I Do?
But what to do next?
I was at a crossroads.
I was being tested – what kind of life do I want to live?
Do I take a risk, or play it safe?
Do I go home, to the comfortable and secure, or do I take the leap of faith, the step into the unknown?
Fly back to Los Angeles and move in with my mom?
Fly to Oregon, a place I’ve wanted to live since I was eight, and move in with my aunt?
Fly straight to France, where a friend has a house I can stay at, and figure out a way to make money under the table in Europe?
I was torn. And a little scared. What if I ran out of money? Maybe I should go home and get a ‘real’ job. Going back to the States didn’t sound half bad, either – safer, more reasonable, more comfortable. I’d get to see my family and friends. I speak the language, it’s familiar, I know I can work legally, I don’t have to keep moving because of visa limitations. And I don’t even speak French. Of course going to France would be fun, but I’d only planned to go there because I had a free place to live, and it would be good to see my friend.
I realized that this indecision was the same old fight that’s existed throughout my life – the fight between the heart and the mind, fears and dreams. I’ve been trying to figure out and follow my dreams this past year, and it’s still a work in progress. I’m still sorting out what’s me and what’s other people, and I’m still working out the blocks that I sabotage myself with.
So now I had to decide – Do I give up on the adventure and go back to safety, comfort, the known, the secure? A 9-5 job in the States?
Or do I continue living outside of my comfort zone, pushing my limits, taking heart-based risks, living all this spiritual and inspirational stuff that so fascinates me?
And does it even matter? Any path can be an adventure an growth experience with the right attitude…
I know sounds like it’s all fun and games and first world problems, choosing what country you want to fly to next. But my uncertainty and all of the options, were making me anxious and uncomfortable. Freedom equals responsibility, and when you no longer have anyone or anything to blame for holding you back, it can be a scary and daunting thing.
I decided I would go home. I’d fly back to Los Angeles and spend the Fourth of July with my mother (something I don’t think I’ve ever done, since it was traditionally a holiday I spent with my father), and then after about a month I’d fly to Portland, and stay with my aunt while exploring Oregon.
The Universe Won’t Let Me
I had a return ticket on United Airlines from Buenos Aires to Washington DC that I’d pushed back from December to April. However, when I went online in April to change the return flight from April 18th to July 1st, thinking I’d spend the Fourth with my best friend in DC, I got an error message. I tried again and again, but it wouldn’t go through. Finally it showed that my reservation was changed, but I would have to make a call to United Argentina sometime before my departure to pay for the ticket change.
I later realized it was luck/synchronicity that I hadn’t been charged for that ticket change – turns out my friend wouldn’t be in DC for the Fourth of July anyways, so I had no reason to go there. So in May, when unemployment stopped and I decided to fly back to LA, I tried to change the ticket again. All I got on the website were error messages, so I started calling United.
I called, and I called, and I called. It was either busy, or when I would finally get through to an agent, the phone system it would immediately hang up on me. I ran out of money on my phone, so I bought another 40 pesos of credit, and then another 60 pesos. Busy, busy, hang up. I finally got through to a woman – “Please don’t hang up on me!!!!” – and she started the process of figuring out what fees I would have to pay. After about 4 minutes on the phone with her, click – disconnected. I’d run out of money again.
So I stopped. Why was this so hard? One of the lessons I’ve learned in the past few years is Don’t Push. Take action, then let go. Relax, allow. I’ve learned through experience that when I push something to happen, in the end it doesn’t work out anyways. This has been especially true, oddly enough, with technology. Technology tends to work in my favor – when something’s not working smoothly for me, I’m not supposed to do it. One of the best examples of this: last summer I was trying to buy an Amtrak train ticket online from Boston to Washington DC, but the website kept giving me error messages. I decided to stop pushing and wait til the next day to try again.
The next day I was on a whale watching cruise in Provincetown, MA. I met a friendly woman who was celebrating her birthday with her husband. Her husband, it turns out, was a train conductor for Amtrak. A few days later they picked me up, drove me to the train station, and I got on the train he conducted with him – the train from Boston to DC. For free. The cost of that train ticket I hadn’t been able to buy online? $160.
So, I stopped pushing for the United ticket to Los Angeles, and started wondering – maybe I’m meant to go somewhere else? Fly straight to Portland, Oregon? Fly straight to Marseille, France?
“Remember that sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck.” – Dalai Lama
Answer from the Goddesses
After a few anxiety-ridden days of ruminating over what to do, I sat down with Ginny in front of the crackling fireplace in her room for a maté and confessed my confusion and anxiety over where to go next. I was overwhelmed by choice. I described the frustration I’d been experiencing – my struggles with United Airlines trying to re-book my ticket, the 100 pesos (~$20USD) I’d wasted calling their Argentinian 1-800 number over and over, the repeated busy signals and hang-ups. So this left me asking:
Why? Why wasn’t this working?
And then I saw Ginny’s Medicine Bag. The Medicine Bag is full of cards, runes, and books with Native American teachings. She had a deck of Goddess cards that I particularly liked, so I decided I’d ask the Goddesses where to fly to next.
I pulled out the deck, shuffled the cards, and asked: Where do I go?
California, Oregon, France, or hell, why not Italy, my favorite country in the world?
I expected some generic message from the card that might push me on a certain direction – a card about home or mother might mean I should go to California, forest imagery might be Oregon, adventure might be France…
I pulled a card and flipped it over. And I burst out laughing.
The card said:
“FORTUNA: The Roman goddess Fortuna was the same as an earlier Italian goddess who presided over the earth’s abundance and controlled the destiny of all human beings. Her name, derived from Vortumna, “she who turns the year about,” came to symbolize the capriciousness of life and luck, the vagaries of fate as the wheel of life turns around. Her festival was celebrated in October. Fortuna gives way to approach the ups and downs of life, a perspective that can offer us some equanimity as we proceed on our journey.”
I laughed until tears squeezed out the corners of my eyes.
I later flipped through the deck, and that one was the only card that mentioned Italy.
Italy. The country I fell in love with on my first trip to Europe at age 18. The country I left my first boyfriend for, spending a semester there studying abroad (when I had to return to the States I was quite depressed that I hadn’t spent a year). The country I went back to after graduating from college, intending to stay there forever, but then coming back to the States because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to pay back the $40,000 student loan I had (at the time the currency was the lira, not the Euro). Italy, the country I returned to four times in as many years because I fell in love with an Italian (my second boyfriend, a relationship that ended because of the distance and the fact that he was kind of a mammoni that wouldn’t move out of the house, and I got tired of waiting for him to get his own place so I could move in). The country of the language I love to speak and the food I love to eat.
So, I got my sign, my answer. Loud and clear.
And I’ve decided to follow it.
When the Goddesses said to go to Italy, I started thinking of who I knew over there.
I emailed a friend of my best friend in DC who I’d forgotten had just been relocated to Rome for work, and asked if I could crash on her couch if I came to Rome.
She said she had a guest room ready for me.
I emailed another friend I’d met 11 years ago on the way to a Radiohead concert in Verona. I told him I might be heading to Italy this summer, and asked if there were any good shows coming up.
He told me Radiohead was playing in Florence on July 1st. All their other dates were sold out but there just happened to be a few tickets left for Florence.
Ok, ok, Goddesses, Fortuna, Universe, fate, I get it!!! I’m going, I’m going!
So before I even booked my flight to Italy, I bought a Radiohead ticket online. The purchase went through without a hitch.
“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.”
- William Hutchinson Murray from his 1951 book entitled The Scottish Himalayan Expedition.
The Universe Won’t Let Me Again
The next step – the hunt for flights. The cheapest flights I could find on Kayak.com from Buenos Aires to Italy was an Aerolineas flight into Rome on June 25th. I checked every other Italian airport, including Florence, but they were all $300 or more than flying into Rome.
So, I tried to book the ticket on the Aerolineas site.
It wouldn’t go through.
I tried a few more times. Error, error, error. But there was an 800 number to call! Oh god. So I called, and got through immediately. A helpful woman with a Peruvian accent suggested maybe I was entering a four-digit expiration rate for my credit card rather than a two-digit. So I tried online again. Error.
I stopped. Why wasn’t this working? AGAIN?? I thought I was doing what I’m supposed to do!
I couldn’t book that train ticket to DC because I would get a free one the next day.
I couldn’t change my return flight to DC because my friend wasn’t going to be there.
I couldn’t change my flight to LA because I was apparently meant to go to Italy instead.
So why was Rome giving me problems now??
Perhaps there was a cheaper flight available? So I dug deeper. I googled ‘cheap flights Italy,’ I checked old emails from my Italian days to see if there was some travel site I’d forgotten about. I tried searching different dates, for the entire month of June, for the end of May. I tried searching all the airports, again. Nothing cheaper than flying into Rome. So I called Aerolineas again, and shortly got through to a man who put me on hold while he tried to figure out my issue with booking online. As I sat on hold, I flipped through the 20 or so tabs I had open in my browser.
And then I saw it. Somehow I’d missed the search result, or misunderstood it since the flight had a layover in Rome: a flight from Buenos Aires to Florence, a few days earlier that I’d been looking for, on June 23rd. For the same price as flying into Rome.
I hung up the phone.
I booked the ticket to Florence.
It went through without problem.
Florence. The first place I ever fell in love with. My second home. I hadn’t been there in seven years.
I’m going to Florence.
”Life is a fatal adventure.
It can only have one end.
So why not make it as far-ranging
and free as possible.”
- Alexander Eliot
I’m still afraid. I’m afraid I’m being stupid, afraid I’m making the wrong choice, afraid I’m wasting my money and my time, afraid I’m wasting opportunities, putting my comfort and security in jeopardy.
But the day I finally booked the ticket to Florence, I saw this post by Kute Blackson, summarizing and affirming the truth that I know in my heart, the truth that my head hasn’t quite been programmed as default yet:
“The fulfillment of your dream is not simply a matter of resources. But about your resourcefulness. How resourceful are you willing to be? How committed are you to your vision?
There is always a way. Always. Perhaps not the way you have always been doing it. But the way it’s seeking to happen for your highest good, which may not be the way you thought. So get yourself out the way so the way it’s meant to be can unfold.
The obstacles you might face along the way are simply opportunities to expand yourself, innovate and tap into other dimensions of your creative power that has yet to be expressed.
The fulfillment of the dream you have cannot be fulfilled by being the same person you have always been. It will require you shed the limitations of your previous self so that you stand in the greatness that your dream is demanding of you now.”
It’s about playing full out and giving everything you have to each moment, leaving nothing left on the table. So, lick the plate of your life clean.
You might have no road map for where your dream is taking you. But this is the time to trust your ‘Souls GPS’ to navigate you home. It’s your vision that will bring light to the path you are to travel.
Your dreams are the way in which the Divine seeks to dance in physical form through you.
The universe will respond to you at the level of your commitment.
Your excuses will get you nowhere.
Your commitment is key.
And that same day, my Note From the Universe:
There are no accidents, Michelle.
If it’s appeared on your life radar, this is why: to teach you that dreams come true; to reveal that you have the power to fix what’s broken and heal what hurts; to catapult you beyond seeing with just your physical senses; and to lift the veils that have kept you from seeing that you’re already the person you dreamed you’d become.
And believe me, that was one heck of a dream.
So, for now, I’m following dreams, allowing life to be magical, and going with the flow. Stay tuned!
*Afore-promised punchline promised to those who weren’t willing or able to read the whole thing: After my income flow stopped and I encountered a series of obstacles and website blocks, I didn’t know where in the world to go from Patagonia, so I asked the Goddesses: California, Oregon, France or Italy? And drew a card. The card told me to go to Italy. I arrive in Florence on June 24th.
April 23, 2012
“We’re making tortas fritas out front! You want a fresh one??” Anne hollered up to my loft above the kitchen, where I was attempting to meditate. Though yes, I did want a fresh torta frita (fried bread, kind of like a savory donut), I declined in order to continue my meditation. “Ella no sabe lo que está perdiendo!” Jorge shouted. She doesn’t know what she’s missing! But then I heard Ginny whistle from her bedroom, and Anne was already back outside, so I climbed down my ladder to help Ginny into her wheelchair and we rolled to the fire outside. Anne and Jorge were flattening balls of dough and tossing them into a pot of hot frying oil over the fire, and Emilio was serving maté to everyone. It was chilly out, the tips of my fingers numb, but the hot tortas fritas and maté helped enliven them. I ran back inside to get some local honey to put on the tortas, which taste like fried biscuits, and we sat around the fire, chatting in broken Castellano (Spanish) and English and laughing.
A bit later Anne, Ginny and I climbed into the truck, throwing Ginny’s wheelchair in the truckbed next to the canisters of diesel fuel – there’s no gas station in town, and often the gas station the next town over doesn’t have any gas to sell. We were going to the one year anniversary party of the Bomberos Voluntarios de El Huecú – The Volunteer Firefighters of El Huecú. We went to the main plaza of town, a grassy square with pine trees. In the middle townspeople and Bomberos were taking photos, milling about, and there was music blasting over the speakers. We kissed a bunch of people on the cheeks – Como anda? Bien! – until it was time to head to the cheif volunteer firefighter’s house for an asado. Ginny had donated a goat for the BBQ, along with a few other estancias. There were about 50 or 60 people there, and many goats flayed open and strung up like Jesus on the cross to cook over the open fire. There were also fresh-fried empanadas, potato salad, cabbage and tomato salad, chimichurri sauce.
I noticed a man with a plastic container pouring something onto his beef and egg empanada before he took each bite. “What is that guy pouring on his empanada?” Anne: “I think it’s chimichurri sauce… Oh no, wait. Oh no. Oh God. It’s sugar.” We burst out laughing. An hour earlier we’d been making fun of how everything in Argentina has sugar in it. EVERYTHING. The coffee grounds come with sugar in them. When someone’s talking about juice here, what they mean is Tang. Workers don’t want water; they want Fanta. If it’s not sugar, it’s salt. I took a bite of one of the salads at the asado – super salty. Too salty for a second bite.
Finally, the moment we’d eagerly been waiting for – the goats were done BBQing. Women came around with big trays of goat meat, goat ribs, goat fat. I got a piece of meat attached to a vertebrae. The skin was crunchy, the meat delicious – like beef but juicier, fattier. Anne grabbed for her favorite, a rib. “Wait… is this a rib? What is this? It’s got a joint.” She examined it, puzzled, and flexed it, showing it to a large local woman sitting across from us. “Cola.” Tail. It was a goat tail. “Oh… hmm. Um.. It tastes very… goat-y.”
The three of us cut out before the cake painted with flames was served – Ginny needs her siesta! – and walked/rolled across the dirt street, where someone had a padrillo – stallion – for sale that Ginny wanted to check out. The man disappeared into a small wooden stable, from which the noises of a monster emitted. After a few more minutes of ominous sounds coming from the stable, a big muscular horse shot out, white with grey dapples and a black Gladiator mohawk.
We had some close calls at being trampled or kicked by this horse on steroids, and he even bucked a few times for us, but I was too busy trying stay out of the way to get a good picture of that. I thought he was beautiful, but Ginny didn’t get that “have to have him” feeling, so we loaded her back into the truck and drove slowly home alongside the wide, dry riverbed.
April 20, 2012
The Chacra (little ranch) I live on is surrounded by small mountains/large hills, so there’s a nice hike in any direction you head in. Yesterday I decided to do a sunrise hike. I woke up at 6:30am and did Vipassana meditation for one hour, then bundled myself up (temperature’s in the 40′s F at night) and put my iPod, journal and Kindle into my bag.
I listened to a Philosopher’s Note on my iPod as I headed east, walking through the dry riverbed behind the house and past the Mapuche school. The Philosopher’s Note was on the book ‘The Power of Habit’ by Jack D. Hodge.
“It’s often said that habits are hard to break. This is an inaccurate statement. Habits aren’t broken; they are replaced. In other words, you replace, not erase, bad habits. This is an important distinction because if we are to change a bad habit we must carefully consider which habits we are to replace it with. Purposefully choosing new habits to replace old habits will greatly increase your chances of changing bad habits.”
So I decided to replace my habit of staying in my warm bed with taking a sunrise hike every morning. Until it starts snowing, at least.
The sun rises late here, a little after 8am, so I needed something to get me out of bed earlier – I like to get up at 6am but when it’s dark and cold out, I’m not very motivated to climb out of my Cocoon. (I literally sleep in a Cocoon, this awesome travel sheet/sleeping bag liner thing that my friend Anne gave me. It’s stretchy, so I close myself up in it to keep the mosquitos from biting my face; it’s much more comfortable than trying to keep myself covered with a normal stiff sheet all night!).
I hiked for about 30 minutes until I found a nice rock-topped hill to perch on. I wrote my three morning pages for ‘The Artist’s Way’; I read an entry from ‘A Daily Dose of Sanity’ by Alan Cohen as the earth tilted the sun into my eyes.
While I’m living here in the middle of natural beauty and space and fresh air, I’m going to make sure I get the most out of it!
I have more photos I want to share, but the crap internet connection would only allow me to upload this one; issues uploading photos has been my main delay on blogging lately. I’m hoping it’ll be easier for me to upload to a Flickr account; will keep you posted!
“Life is a fatal adventure. It can only have one end. So why not make it as far-ranging and free as possible.” – Alexander Eliot
April 8, 2012
I arrived in Patagonia one week ago.
In the last week I’ve learned a lot of things:
How to make Maté.
How to ride a horse.
How to drive stick shift.
How to make Ñaco.
What Ñaco is.
How to make Tortas Fritas.
That cow feed will go bad if it gets rained on.
That gauchos don’t like spicy food (ie garlic powder or curry).
That out in the middle of nowhere, people resort to gossip and sex for entertainment.
That living without electricity is kinda fun.
That I love goat meat.
That wasps love goat meat.
This is just a short list. I’ve also picked up a bunch of new spanish words and dishes, like gisa, a throw-everything-in stew; and I’ve learned the names of many of the places and characters that will be involved in this new chapter of my life.
I’m living at a chacra (a small ranch with horses) which is owned by a woman named Ginny who’s had Multiple Sclerosis for about 30 years. The chacra is on the outskirts of a small, small town called El Huecú, in the Neuquén region of Northern Patagonia. El Huecú has a population of about 1,000 people and is a four hour bus ride from Zapala, which is a 16 hour bus ride to the south west of Buenos Aires.
The internet connection here is slow and sporadic. I just attempted to upload photos but no luck tonight. I’ll attempt smaller batches tomorrow!
Time for bed. I can hear cows mooing nearby. The wind usually picks up later in the night and howls around the small house. I sleep in a loft upstairs and have to climb a ladder to get up here, so it’s kinda like a treehouse. There are mosquitos so I sleep with my face under the sheets, which combined with the wind equals staticky hair. It’s quite cold in the mornings (about 45 °F) and the sun doesn’t come up until almost 8am; I wake up around 6am but it’s no fun getting out of a warm bed. But it’s peaceful here (though challenging in many ways), the air is clean, and the countryside is beautiful. I’m certainly not in Kansas anymore, Toto.