Category: Writing

Abuse, Alcoholism, Animals, Creativity, Faith, Gratitude, Herbs, Homesteading, Nature, Organic, Religion, Spirituality, Writing

Is it Wasted Time or Time Well-Spent?

Lisa Burbank

I have spent the better part of this morning searching through a directory of towns in Maine for a list of towns with the least amount of population. I’m looking for unorganized townships with less than 500 people. Next, will be to research their locations. If I decide to relocate, I would prefer being near the ocean. Not necessarily a waterfront property; they tend to be grossly over-priced, but I would like to be within shouting distance of the ocean…or a lake. Somewhere that I can plunk a canoe down in the water and paddle away. Is that possible with goats in tow (not in the canoe but farming in a coastal region)? Or are coastal towns all zoned into tourist trap submission? These are things I am hoping to find out. The mingled scents of clean farm animals and salty sea air would be the sweetest perfumes. And the cry of a gull amidst a chorus of bleats and neighs and cock-a-doodle-doo, the sweetest of songs. This will be my paradise here on earth. If I can find it. And if I can afford it when I do.

As I type this I am also thinking of all the improvements I’d like to make here on this little one-acre homestead in northeastern Connecticut. Being influenced by the folks at Path to Freedom (please Google for more information) in knowing that it is possible to have a sustainable homestead on a smaller piece of land–i.e. quoting Jules Dervaes in their excellent film, “Homegrown Revolution”, I decided years ago to “start with what I have”. But I worry about things like carbon monoxide from Route 6 settling on my herbs and vegetables, and the increased development of this Quiet Corner town. It’s becoming too commercial and yet the job market is scarce, public transport is so poorly planned as to be almost non-existent, and, despite being on this main Interstate, I feel like an island unto myself anyway. There is little by way of a “community” feeling.

Of course, I do little to encourage that community feeling. My yard is always overgrown. When someone knocks at the door, I seldom answer–unless I’m expecting someone. And I walk around with the feeling that I’m sitting in a fish bowl. The Thujas bordering the front of the house offer a great privacy screen but it is not enough; I’m that eternal hermit-in-the-woods. Not exactly the most encouraging attitude for an ordained minister but I crave solitude like the flowers crave sun and rain. It’s one of the reasons I’ve had such a difficult time adjusting to having a roommate–even though that roommate is Mom.

Whine, whine, whine…

Or maybe that should be wine, wine, WINE!

No, I seldom partake of the latter. Having felt the effects of alcoholism many times as a child–from watching a beloved grandfather vomiting blood each morning, and losing him all too early, to a stepfather’s drunken rampages and pedophilia–I’ll take the fruit of the vine in the form of some organic grape juice instead. (Albeit, I wouldn’t say, “No!” to a wee drop of mead though…)

As for the whining? The best remedy is gratitude. No, I am not where I really want to be. And I am feeling the shifts everywhere in my life right now, shifts that say change is coming and it is time to move on, move forward, get out of this rut that I’ve been “stuck” in for the last several years. Despite my hermit-in-the-woods mentality–which is another side effect of having grown up with alcoholism–I do desire that sense of community, that sense of connection with others. But I also want that oasis in the middle of it all, that place of quiet retreat where I can recharge my batteries–literally and figuratively speaking. We all need that.

So, as I draw a ragged deep breath and prepare to send Wendy Whiner on her way again, I make a short list of all of things I am grateful for right here and now:

I am grateful for the air I breathe, the water I drink, a roof overhead, the food on my plate and the clothes on my back.
I am grateful for my roommate, my Mom; grateful that I am fortunate enough to still have my Mom with me.
I am grateful for family and friends, my community of loved ones–whether they live in this Quiet Corner or not.
I am grateful for all of the myriad animals that share this home with me–both domestic and wild.
I am grateful for the gifts from God of being able to write, sing, play music, paint, draw, create and homestead.
I am grateful for my job, for being employed, and for the wonderful co-workers who share that part of my week with me.
I am grateful for my garden, for the herbs, fruits and vegetables growing there.

And I am grateful, most of all, for my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who died for my sins and gave me everlasting life.

Now what the heck was I whining about?

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

“Homegrown Revolution Quotes.” Quotes.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2016. Web. 22 Sep. 2016 .

Homesteading, Minimalism, Writing

Organizing

Lisa Burbank

I am a minimalist…until it comes to paperwork/information. Then I save everything. The home office has been inundated with Post-Its and piles of books, magazines, print outs, etc. that I’m saving for “Someday”–you know that day. It never really gets here.

Yesterday morning after I hit “Publish” on my blog, I started sorting through all of the piles. And, really, just transferred them to different piles. Instead of a hodge-podge, each pile now has its own theme. One pile is nothing but file folders of information that I decided was worth keeping: recipes for everything from smoothies to DIY cat litter; how-to’s on making bio-bricks for the woodstove; sprouting; gardening tips, etc. These will go in the file cabinet. And, yes, they will be perused–or, at the very least, I will know where to find the information when I need it instead of creating a new hodge-podge going, “I know it’s here somewhere!”

Another pile is nothing but those Post-Its and I’ve decided to transfer the information to a single, spiral-bound notebook for easy reference. This one may stay on the desk as I’ve noticed most of the Post-Its are links to various websites. Some of them feature tiny houses; others, alternative building designs such as cob, straw bales or “earthships”. There’s a link for animal supplements and organic feed sources. And another for a portable solar panel. About a third of the Post-Its are books that I’d like to read, whether solely for pleasure, self-help or, in some way, related to homesteading and/or the environment. And some will have to be transposed to maybe a cheat sheet as they contain usernames and passwords I’ve created to join this group or that online. (Considering the wonder with which I’m re-finding this information, I can’t have been that enamored of the group in the first place but, who knows? Maybe the Universe is now ready for me to finally participate…)

The last is a pile of notebooks and I have little idea what is in them. I know some of them contain notes from my classes, and also, writings, character developments, etc. But they can’t all be just that. (Chuckle) Then again, you never know.

As I traverse this journey into a more organized work space, I shudder. Perhaps a neater, more sterile environment will create a short-circuit somewhere in the creative genius. Let’s hope not. There’s a whole lot more I’d like to share.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Creativity, Herbs, Homesteading, Nature, Writing

3:30 Woman

Lisa Burbank

I remember many years ago, when I was dating my first husband, he painted a little soldier figure and christened him “3:30 Man”. “Is it 3:30 yet?” was the daily battle cry within the stockroom where we worked together and it was boldly painted on the side of this figure. “3:30 Man” sat on the desk that my ex shared with his then-supervisor. 3:30 p.m. was the magical time, the time when we could all go home and remember something of a life apart from the daily grind just to make ends meet.

Today his counterpart would be 3:30 Woman. But I doubt I would dress her in olive drab. 3:30 Woman is a lot more flamboyant. She’s wearing her Wellingtons in the mud and barnyard muck, raking old hay and animal waste into the compost pile after schlepping water and feed out to the barn. She’s standing in the kitchen with a bright pink apron over her clothes, measuring sugar and molasses to make her own brown sugar instead of the store-bought variety. She’s got a paintbrush in hand, dabs of paint on her hands, her arms, in her hair and is busy detailing that rocky beach gracing her office wall. She’s also pounding away furiously at the keyboard, not waiting for inspiration but writing anyway as Pearlina, Paz, Emmylou, Priscilla, Ozzy, Kirby, Whitney, Alice, Rosco and Ariel chirp and purr and chatter away in her lap, in the window, on the yoga mat. Eh, she needs a good dose of feline intervention to write. Without little paws climbing on the keyboard, the desk, begging in and out of the room and getting into jars of pens, markers and other office supplies, it would be too easy.

3:30 Woman, like 3:30 Man, is a defender of innocents but there the comparison ends.

Of course, 3:30 Woman is hailing 3:30 a.m. rather than p.m. At 3:30 p.m. she’s going into work to take pictures of cars and vans…and salivating over that Chevy High Country in a rich burgundy color, rather than going home. 3:30 a.m. is when life begins, a little blurry-eyed and incoherent, but it is a life worth living. Perhaps I should add a cuppa tea in 3:30 Woman’s hand though…a little mix of Slippery Elm (Ulmus rubra) and Echinacea (Echinacea purpurea) to soothe the vocal chords when it’s time to sing or, perhaps, a bit of green tea (Camellia sinensis) to control the asthma. When 3:30 a.m. is a bit of a challenge and she’s still slumbering away when that alarm goes off, perhaps just a cup of plain, ol’ Salada tea after the usual morning yoga practice to give her a little more “pick-me-up”. Either way, that cuppa tea belongs in her hands as much as 3:30 Man holds his rifle in defense.

And, as another alarm goes off, this one to remind me to step away–if only for a while–from the literary world and attend to homesteading matters instead, I smile and wonder, “Is it 3:30 yet?” I’ve still got a few more chapters left.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Gratitude, Writing

Another Quickie…

Lisa Burbank

This morning was tough. The alarm went off at 3:30 and I didn’t have the heart to disturb Priscilla, one of my feline roommates (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it!), so I snuggled back into the pillow and enjoyed the slow rumble as I tickled her under the chin.

Like Ariel, Priscilla is another calico. She was dropped off last summer, very pregnant and very skittish. Her first morning here she bit my arm as I reached over her to clean her kitty pan. I spent several hours in the ER, received a tetanus vaccine and discovered that I am highly allergic to it as I spent an afternoon huddled under several quilts, shivering uncontrollably in 90+ temps with a fever of 106 degrees. Naturally, Mom rushed me back to the ER; I now have one of those funny bracelets with a serpent on it saying “no TDP or TDAP vaccine”; the doc says I’m better off taking my chances with tetanus next time. But Priscilla and I have obviously come a long way since then and I enjoyed the bonding this morning, Priscilla rewarding me with her patented “I-can’t-get-close-enough-to-you” nuzzling of hands and face.

When I finally crawled out of bed–about 1/2 hour later–I decided to finish the short story I’ve been working on for class. And, being the perfectionist that I am, it took me longer than anticipated but, for once, I submitted it early rather than 2 minutes to midnight on Sunday when it is due. Finding myself rapidly approaching the big 5-0 and a college student is kind of like experiencing this strange sort of time warp but I wouldn’t change a thing.

And tomorrow morning I’ll be back early. This blogging thing is addicting.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Creativity, Gratitude, Herbs, Holistic Health, Homesteading, Nature, Spirituality, Writing

Monet I Am Not

Lisa Burbank

I added a brief blurb to one of last week’s posts about starting a mural on the wall of my home office. This is the one room of the house I have never painted in all the years I have lived here. I’m not sure why–and it certainly could use a coat of paint–but somehow the unpainted, unfinished walls add a sort of creative aesthetic to the room. A blank but less-than-perfect slate upon which to feed the creative genius. Last week, I painted the sky and the grass. This week I added details.

I am painting my dream life, my dream property in Maine. You see, I’ve been doing a lot of reading about manifesting, using creative visualization to manifest what you hope to achieve. I have several vision boards in the office, on the refrigerator, and even on the cork board next to my desk at work. For those of you unfamiliar with vision boards, a vision board is a collage of images of your heart’s desire. Mine have a wild assortment of goats, sheep, rabbits and Border Collies, as well as an array of antique furniture, spinning wheels, looms, beehives, and herb and vegetable gardens. You can add affirmations to them, too. The idea is to surround yourself with these constant reminders of where you want to be. I even have one with the image of a manual typewriter with an affirmation beside it that reads: I am a professional writer. Eh, whatever motivates you. And the mural is simply a larger vision board–one that I am putting a lot of passion and creative energy into as I improve upon my drawing and painting skills. (I read somewhere that this really helps with the manifestation process; it doesn’t hurt to try)

Painting a wall a single color is actually kind of boring to me. I know many contractors and house painters who find it meditative but I need more detail. Painting a scene on a bit of canvas is meditative for me–as long as I can still the inner critic. But that’s actually not hard to do as I paint simply for enjoyment. When I write, the critic comes out. Though I enjoy writing, too, I tend to forget the rule of thumb about not expecting your first draft to be bestseller material. It won’t be. Accept it. When I paint, though most of the details I’ve added to the mural are pretty easy to figure out, I am definitely not a Monet. And that’s okay…even if it is occupying the whole wall in my home office. Though not a Monet, it does look like a bit of folk art, with a whimsical willow tree over a sea cliff, and some fruit trees that look like they stepped out of a Tim Burton movie. Once I add some leaves and the actual fruit, these skeletal monsters will look a bit more benign. As for the animals? I think I am going to have to find some “how-to” books or websites; my artistic skills need a little honing before I add them to the wall. I can do a passable cat, rabbit, sheep and even a horse but my chickens, ducks and goats leave a lot to be desired.

All in all, it was a great way to spend an afternoon. I went into that proverbial “zone” for a few hours and found true relaxation, something that is often sadly lacking with me as I tend to be moving in 20 different directions at once. It’s nice to be able to focus.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Animal Rights, Gratitude, Herbs, Homesteading, Nature, Writing

It All Started with Dreams of Goats and Sheep

Lisa Burbank

My favorite part of the St. Louis Zoo was the children’s petting zoo, especially the area where all the kids and lambs were kept. I could have stayed there all day. We went to the zoo a lot in the summer months so at least I got frequent visits where I could feed my growing obsession. In between visits, I would fantasize about having goats and sheep of my own. It’s funny because I never saw this enormous farm. It was always a smaller place with just enough room for a small herd. And I always had a garden full of herbs and flowers–the Botanical Gardens were another favorite place to visit as a kid. I would even imagine myself in later years as an old woman with that herd of goats and sheep, and a yard full of flowers, herbs and vegetables. I can’t think of a better way to retire someday but I am working towards making that dream come true now. That old woman of myself was happily settled.

It started with the petting zoo. Books fueled it further. When my family relocated from Rhode Island to St. Louis, Missouri in December 1978, I felt completely lost. I missed my family. Granted, my stepfather’s family welcomed me as their own and I’ve been blessed with a third “set” of grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins that I love dearly. It’s just the place where you’re born always has a special tug, no matter where you end up later in life. And I was convinced there would be at least one family member I would lose before we returned East again. You see, I lost my paternal grandfather shortly after we relocated the first time in December 1974. He was probably my biggest influence. He was a writer and a musician and he gave me a love of learning that I cherish to this day. He started teaching me chess at the tender age of 3–well enough that I held my own in a chess club against some with trophies bigger than houses, though I’ve never had an interest in competing; I enjoy the game just because it’s fun and requires one’s total absorption. My family managed to move back East just before Poppop’s passing in April 1975. Nanny, my paternal grandmother, passed almost a year to the day after Poppop and things were never quite the same in my world. Somehow it stuck in my head that major moves like that would result in losing someone dear again. And I did. My Uncle Jimmy was killed in a car accident 6 months’ after that second relocation in May 1979. We were only 4 years apart in age and our birthdays just 2 days’ apart. Mom and Grandma Heon would have a cake for us both on the day in between our birthdays. Anyway, at 12 years old, this was just too much grief and homesickness to deal with so books became my solace.

I remember being in Ms. Borden’s 7th grade class and picking up Elizabeth George Speare’s “The Witch of Blackbird Pond”. It was set in New England–Connecticut, more specifically–and the vivid descriptions of a Puritan village (I had already visited Sturbridge on a field trip and fallen in love…) and autumn foliage and the smell of salty sea air brought home a little closer to me. Maybe that’s where the dreams of myself being a little old lady with a bunch of goats really came from as the character of Hannah Tupper lives alone in her little dilapidated cottage with her goats and her cats (I am sort of in line for that title of “Crazy Cat Lady”…). She reminded me of another elderly woman who lived across the street from my maternal grandparents. Her name was Mae. And I know her last name but I am not sure of the spelling so please forgive the lack of etiquette. Anyway, this book became a major part of my life. I still have a copy. And I cannot count the number of times I have read it.

“Those Miller Girls” by Alberta Wilson Constant was another that captured my heart at that tender age. Though it was not set in New England like “The Witch of Blackbird Pond”, Swish the Goat was a major supporting character–at least in my book he was. This seemed to be a theme to my early readings. Ironically, I didn’t read “Heidi” until my early 40’s!

A couple of years later Mom had enrolled in the Doubleday Book Club. One of the first books she received was entitled, “The Tiger’s Woman” by Celeste De Blasis. Unlike “The Witch of Blackbird Pond” and “Those Miller Girls”, it did not feature any goats, though there were plenty of sheep. And this was not a young adult reader. If Mom had known the very adult content, she probably would have prohibited me from reading it at 14 years of age; the bedroom scenes were quite explicit. But this book actually became a major catalyst in my life as the lead character of Sarah-Mary Drake and I shared a common childhood: we both had fathers (in my case, stepfather) who wanted too much to do with us. I suddenly felt less alone in the world but, more importantly, the influence that this book in particular had on my life still has the power to astound me: my love of Newfoundlands from the character of Captain; my determination to learn American Sign Language from the characters of Maggie and Ben; Sarah-Mary learns gardening, spinning, weaving, breadmaking–all of the myriad aspects that make up homesteading. A later book by Celeste De Blasis, entitled “Wild Swan”, had almost as much of an impact as the lead character, Alexandria, is an herbalist, as is her grandmother, Virginia. The vivid descriptions of Virginia’s English herb garden stuck with me and put me in mind of Mae, too. Though I don’t recall Mae having an herb garden, she did know her plants, her herbs. Mom cured a case of pink eye (conjunctivitis) in me using a decoction of spearmint leaves, a remedy that she learned from Mae when she was a child.

I am definitely older now. Not sure if I’m any wiser. But copies of these books stand on the shelf of my library, tattered and torn, the bindings cracked, the pages yellowed from their many handlings over the years. Every once in awhile, I feel a need to re-visit some old friends and mentors, and remember the solace these cherished volumes provided for a lost and lonely little girl. It could be, too, that they’re simply some well-written stories with some vivid and memorable characters. I admit, if I can write just one complete novel with even half of the dynamics that Celeste De Blasis put into her novels, I will consider myself a success as a writer. She was an extraordinary author…even if she didn’t feature any goats in her novels.

Almost 40 years later, I am still in love with Swish the Goat. And I still linger overlong in the petting zoos.

May God bless you & keep you!