I woke up late and under-motivated today. Instead of charging through my work day resistance (I picture myself as football player, jumping through a paper banner and out onto the field) and leaping into the shower, I found myself wandering from room to room, taking in all the household tasks that needed to be done and wishing for a morning where I could actually attend to them.
In a useless bid to delay leaving home for a few extra moments, I did a sinkful of dishes and pointedly ignoring the cantaloupe on the counter. It is desperate for attention and is beginning to develop tender, sinking spots where it once had a firm, taut rind. Chances are good that it will sit there until totally boggy and fermented, at which point I will finally be able to throw it away. I can’t bear to toss it while it has some promise.
I imagine life as a farm wife, living out on the prairie, each day filled with a rotating assortment of cooking, chores and sleep. I see her standing in the doorway, contemplating her only view, where the land and the sky merge and vanish beyond the point where the eye can see. I envy the home-centered nature of her life, all the while knowing that she must have been deathly weary of that unbroken vista. I am attracted by the peaceful sameness of her days, but only as a relief from the busy-ness of mine.
I am roused from my dream as the radio flips from Morning Edition to BBC Newshour. Inescapably late now, I head for the shower and begin the day.
As a former city dweller now living in the country and experiencing a very home-centered life, I find your post interesting. I have yet to experience peaceful sameness nor a relief from busy-ness. And I am certainly not weary of the *ever changing* vista from my doorway. I find it newly energizing every day. Well…nearly every day – the current string of cloudy mornings is getting a bit dull.
Please don’t waste your cantaloupe or all the resources that went into growing it and transporting it to you.
Cantaloupe Butter – from the 1944 Ball Blue Book
Cut melon into small pieces. Add just enough water to prevent sticking. Boil until soft, then press through a sieve. Add from 1 to 1.5 cups sugar, 1 tablespoon lemon juice, and 1 teaspoon cinnamon or other spices to each quart pulp. Boil until thick. Pour while hot into hot jars. Process 10 minutes in hot water bath.
JoAnna, please don’t think I was somehow criticizing or degrading your lifestyle. In my imagining, I was conjuring a woman living on the Prairie in another era, without modern conveniences or access to much community.
More than anything, it was an escapist fantasy, pondering a life drastically different from my own while trying to also keep in mind that any situation, no matter how idyllic, becomes mundane to the person living it.
Hi Marisa,
I enjoy your blog and in no way did I feel criticized or degraded. I was just fascinated by your ideal of the drastically different life.
When I was living in a tiny apartment in DC, I would image what it was like to live in a big, old farmhouse. Now that I do, I am amused by how far off my preconceptions were. I thought living in a house with “character” would be a bit more ethereal, and a lot less inconvenient. I thought I could tend to our animals and garden in flowy sundresses with a glass of tea garnished with fresh mint. But, as you allude to, the day dreams typically leave out the hard parts.
Fortunately, this life hasn’t become mundane to me yet. I remember the exact moment that seeing the Washington Monument no longer gave me goosebumps, but I am still utterly and completely thrilled every time I see a garden plant sprout, or spy a new bird in the field.
PS – the cantaloupe butter is really very good.
JoAnna, your old farmhouse sounds quite lovely to me. And I will definitely try the cantaloupe butter!
JoAnna, your old farmhouse sounds quite lovely to me. And I will definitely try the cantaloupe butter!