Today I got to spend about an hour working in my backyard. Nothing strenuous (because I can’t yet). Just moved some stuff around and fed and watered some of the animals.
Up until recently, I never considered myself an outdoorsy person. But then, I never really had a lot of indoorsy types of hobbies, either, except for reading and writing stories. Other than that, I really get bored inside in a hurry - always have. Then about a year ago I discovered I actually like being outside. It’s the heat and sun I don’t like. Living where I do, it’s hard to escape either for very long, and then, pretty much only during the winter. So I can go outside in the morning and late afternoons, spring through fall, and avoid it during the middle of the day. Wearing a hat really helps. And who cares if I look lame. Obviously I don’t.
I’ll never go so far as to say I was “born in the wrong century.” No; never. As my mom says, I love the three A’s: air conditioning, anesthesia and antibiotics. And I always will. It would be very interesting to experience another time period for, say, a day or up to a few weeks (you know, were time travel actually possible). But then I’d really start missing the modern things that make me not only feel comfortable, but make me feel safe as well. And if you think air conditioning isn’t a safety feature, try heat stroke on for size. But these are things I wouldn’t like to live without for long: clean drinking water, readily available source of food (and a wide range of it at that), washing facilities and soap/detergent, flush privies (i.e., septic/sewer system), fast transportation, doctors and modern Western hospitals, OTC drugs. The list goes on.
No, my fascination with history stops quite firmly right before that line between experiencing something like it (e.g., “authentic” living history) and actually living it. No. You will never hear me say that I was born in the wrong century and wish I could be transported to another time. Experience it, sure. But at the end of the holiday, I want to go home.
All that being said, there is still something about me that just doesn’t fit in where I live. I don’t feel like an urbanite. Not even a suburbanite, revolving out here around the Greater Los Angeles Area like a funky satellite. Despite my fervent appreciation for the features and benefits of our modern age, something about me feels like a cross between country girl and hill billy. I keep chickens. And I like it. I get eggs! We have a drake too, and some mostly useless goats, in addition to our dogs and excellently skilled mouser (i.e., the cat). I like the smell of animals and the hay. Someday I want a horse, just for the experience of it. My neighbors have a cow and I love the sound it makes. I don’t mind trapping gophers, as needed. I love growing food in my garden; this year I’m trying my hand at potatoes.
I love my kids, but I am rarely so happy as when I am outside working in the yard, with a dog following me around.
Yesterday I opened the back door of the PT to get Jordan out of her car seat. I said, “Hi there, my girl!”
