Truth is, I've known about my extreme average-ness for a long time. I guess I first realized it in 5th grade when I was looking through my closet for something to wear that day, and realized I only owned plain shirts in various shades of blue. Then again in 8th grade when my cousin stayed over and said I was kind of a plain Jane. Then again in college when I was taking all these English classes wondering why I wasn't as passionate about authors, novels or poetry as the rest of my classmates seemed to be. Yes, all that analyzing stuff is necessary to learn when going for a bachelor's in creative writing, but it wasn't my bread and butter and I felt a little ostracized for thinking so. I mean, how many cups of chia tea must be thoughtfully sipped in the back corner of the library cafe before you've finished talking about the poor tortured soul of Sylvia Plath? Oh I'm just bound to make enemies with statements like that ... Those guys seemed to me to be putting on airs and strutting like peacocks, but I don't know. Maybe they were for real that interested in hidden and double meanings and all the many ways art can be interpreted - which is infinite. And so why?
And maybe that's why I seem so yawningly one dimensional. I don't have a hobby I'm passionate about. I have hobbies, but none of them make me want to share them with others. I craft, but passively. I sew, but mostly necessarily. I write, but only for pleasure. I play guitar, but don't make enough time to practice. I sing, but not in your face. I cook, but only because my family expects me to feed them. I do all these things but there's no fire in it for me.
So what's my fire? Surely out there somewhere is something I haven't tried that I would love.
Oh but here's something - in the past week I've watched not one, but TWO full-length documentaries on farming. FARMING! And if I'm going to be honest, one made me cry tears of joy. Farmers are good, solid, God-fearing people who appreciate the land and respect the animals and give thanks to the One who gave them to them. I love farmers. They're the salt of the earth.
The documentaries also just brought back so many good memories for me. My parents did a great job in the garden department, and my dad did a good job in the fun animals department. I think there might be a little farm-girl in me that hasn't quite yet sprouted.
Every morning I would wake up super early so that I could feed the animals before getting ready for school. It was awesome. It wasn't even an assigned chore, and my parents never had to ask me. I just loved doing it. Here you see my dad's super cute lime green fleece jacket that I took over as my own, along with my favorite pair of pj's (hey, blue!) that I still kind of miss, actually.
Oh brother... At the end of one of the documentaries they showed a big field of corn rustling in the autumn wind and I swear I could've cried. A beautiful sight and noise if ever I heard one.
Our llama, Kusco, who we loved to try and ride. Actually I don't think he was technically ours, we might've just been keeping him for a neighbor, but I fed him every day and therefor he was mine.
I still remember the day these babies were born. It was mid April, and I was outside doing something and I heard our Nanny goat bleet like she was being murdered so I ran to the shed and saw a wet slimy teeny baby goat and ran to tell my mom. While the other baby was being born I was swinging on our swingset yelling that this was the best day ever!
The billy goat, rightfully named Stinky, that fathered the babies. He reeked. Oh the smell... don't get a billy goat unless you don't have close neighbors.
My parents had a pretty good garden out back, but after a few years they poured a basketball court here and moved the garden to the side yard, where it kicked butt.
There were pigs too, which were so much fun.
And our dog, Thatcher, a red bone hound.
And my bunnies. There were two, a girl and boy, and subsequently many, many more bunnies over the years.
But the thing I miss most about my old house, and the thing that makes me want to go back to somewhere rural and have a few animals and a big old garden... are the views. Cityscapes just don't cut it when there are views like this out there:
There's a hobby out there for me. A hobby that requires me to wake up with the chickens, collecting their eggs and putting out feed for the goats. Letting the dog out and watering the geese. Weeding row upon row of corn. Maybe even milking a dairy cow - a new task I would be more than excited to undertake.
One day I'll have a burning, fiery, uncontrollable in-your-face passion for something. I'll be the weird hick farm girl you never knew I always was - and I'll own it. And I'll happily drive 45 minutes to the nearest Target if it means we can be surrounded by corn fields and big skies and have tons of space for our kids.
No comments:
Post a Comment