It's that time of year again. Crazy beautiful, with long warm days, and cool nights; sunny, azure morning skies giving way to clouds in the afternoon, blessed rain in the early evening. In past Junes, this would be the time when we go to bed with the inimitable fragrance of the entire state of New Mexico on fire wafting through the windows. But not this year. This year, everything is wet and green. It is an indescribable luxury.
The days are long. Very long. First light comes around 4:30, and last light fades well after my husband and I have retired for the night. This should, theoretically, be the beginning of the sweetest part of the year: Plentiful harvests, gorgeous weather, plenty of food for goats and all living creatures, warm, soft air in the day, cool, frangrant air in the starry, starry nights, barbecues, pizza parties in the horno, storytelling around the firepit. Baby chicks, baby goats, baby bunnies running everywhere. Pronghorn and elk herds on the road as one comes home at night. Farmers' markets booming, and people constantly reassuring us that what we do has value and meaning and makes a positive difference in the life of this valley. Young, healthy, vibrant interns learning so much, working so hard, wanting so sincerely to make a difference in the world.
Unfortunately, this also tends to be the time of year when my long day's journey into night peaks.
Perhaps it's because we are just, finally, coming down from May, arguably our toughest, busiest, most demanding month of the season. Everything happens in May. We have our most intense period of bed preparation, planting and transplanting; the farmers markets start; goat babies are born; new interns arrive and need to be trained; the work increases dramatically. This year, as often happens, May leaked well into June. But this year, unlike last, we have a great group of interns and an apprentice to help see us through. Sure, we're still behind on everything, but when are we not? The goat babies are doing well, the chicks are growing, we're in the "market groove," and the harvest is still a manageable, modest size.
Perhaps it's the fact that things continue to break down faster than we can fix them, problems continue to materialize at a faster rate than they can be solved.
Perhaps it's the fact that the front door blew open the other night, stayed open all night, and a lovely, furry rat we've named Joffrey has made himself at home in the house. Yeah, you read that right. There's a rat living in my house. Ah, the beauty of the natural world. Until we catch him, my husband's and my sleep ranges from bad-to-nonexistent. [update: when rat babies appeared, we changed Joffrey's name to Cersei]
It doesn't help that I'm just so damned tired all the time. Some online quiz tells me I have adrenal exhaustion. Yeah, sure. Okay. Well seven years of the greatest cumulative stress and the most difficult, intense work of my life might have something to do with this.
Perhaps it's because this is when things just start getting a little more nutty than we can handle around year. We thought we might avoid that fate this year, but no.
Two nights ago, we were all wakened by the fierce, sharp crackle of a thunderbolt. It was so extremely loud and incredibly close that we were certain the attendant lightening must have struck our wind tower. But that was the second experience of the universe messing with us. The first happened earlier that evening when our beloved and extremely competent apprentice, whom we've been counting on to stay through November, informed us that she is very unhappy here and that we, and the stressful life we have created and continue to create here each day, is a major part of the reason. Hence, she may bail. Soon.
This hurts on all kinds of levels, not the least of which is that my hubbie and I don't do abandonment well. It's way too woven into our DNA, and we had yet to fully heal from the worst ones we've survived when we moved onto the land and it became an annual occurrence.
Another level, of course, is that we admire and deeply care about this woman. We don't want to be the cause of emotional suffering for her.
Then there's the very real fact that, if she leaves now, we are really screwed in terms of the work for the season. We'll get by. We always do. But it will be a hell of a lot harder.
But honestly, deep down, I think the hardest bit is being told you're pushing someone away because of who you are. Not because of some specific thing you said or did, some pattern of behavior that's changeable, but because you and your life are the way they are.
And the way they are is stressful, although this year has been much less so than previous years. And although we can definitely concede her point, we're just not sure there's very much we can do about it. She hasn't reached that point in her life wherein work being stressful is just normal, and for most people, unavoidable (although, to be fair, she has survived the extraordinary "Whiplash"-like stress of music school; doubtless she's still recovering from that).
That's not to say I wouldn't like our lives to be much LESS stressful--we're both working to that end--but the main thing we need for that to happen is to have more people here, full-time, committed to this vision and way of life. Without that, just to survive, we have to take on sufficient work that is, well, pretty much always too much for us.
I know this entry isn't very coherent. I'm terribly fried. In fact, we've renamed Friday (tomorrow) "Fried-day." Just figured I should check in and let you know how things are going on my end of the world.
Oh, and I did finish another draft of my Sleepy Hollow spec. I'm waiting to hear back about it from my mentor. Fingers crossed. Writing remains my joy and salvation.
The days are long. Very long. First light comes around 4:30, and last light fades well after my husband and I have retired for the night. This should, theoretically, be the beginning of the sweetest part of the year: Plentiful harvests, gorgeous weather, plenty of food for goats and all living creatures, warm, soft air in the day, cool, frangrant air in the starry, starry nights, barbecues, pizza parties in the horno, storytelling around the firepit. Baby chicks, baby goats, baby bunnies running everywhere. Pronghorn and elk herds on the road as one comes home at night. Farmers' markets booming, and people constantly reassuring us that what we do has value and meaning and makes a positive difference in the life of this valley. Young, healthy, vibrant interns learning so much, working so hard, wanting so sincerely to make a difference in the world.
Unfortunately, this also tends to be the time of year when my long day's journey into night peaks.
Perhaps it's because we are just, finally, coming down from May, arguably our toughest, busiest, most demanding month of the season. Everything happens in May. We have our most intense period of bed preparation, planting and transplanting; the farmers markets start; goat babies are born; new interns arrive and need to be trained; the work increases dramatically. This year, as often happens, May leaked well into June. But this year, unlike last, we have a great group of interns and an apprentice to help see us through. Sure, we're still behind on everything, but when are we not? The goat babies are doing well, the chicks are growing, we're in the "market groove," and the harvest is still a manageable, modest size.
Perhaps it's the fact that things continue to break down faster than we can fix them, problems continue to materialize at a faster rate than they can be solved.
Perhaps it's the fact that the front door blew open the other night, stayed open all night, and a lovely, furry rat we've named Joffrey has made himself at home in the house. Yeah, you read that right. There's a rat living in my house. Ah, the beauty of the natural world. Until we catch him, my husband's and my sleep ranges from bad-to-nonexistent. [update: when rat babies appeared, we changed Joffrey's name to Cersei]
It doesn't help that I'm just so damned tired all the time. Some online quiz tells me I have adrenal exhaustion. Yeah, sure. Okay. Well seven years of the greatest cumulative stress and the most difficult, intense work of my life might have something to do with this.
Perhaps it's because this is when things just start getting a little more nutty than we can handle around year. We thought we might avoid that fate this year, but no.
Two nights ago, we were all wakened by the fierce, sharp crackle of a thunderbolt. It was so extremely loud and incredibly close that we were certain the attendant lightening must have struck our wind tower. But that was the second experience of the universe messing with us. The first happened earlier that evening when our beloved and extremely competent apprentice, whom we've been counting on to stay through November, informed us that she is very unhappy here and that we, and the stressful life we have created and continue to create here each day, is a major part of the reason. Hence, she may bail. Soon.
This hurts on all kinds of levels, not the least of which is that my hubbie and I don't do abandonment well. It's way too woven into our DNA, and we had yet to fully heal from the worst ones we've survived when we moved onto the land and it became an annual occurrence.
Another level, of course, is that we admire and deeply care about this woman. We don't want to be the cause of emotional suffering for her.
Then there's the very real fact that, if she leaves now, we are really screwed in terms of the work for the season. We'll get by. We always do. But it will be a hell of a lot harder.
But honestly, deep down, I think the hardest bit is being told you're pushing someone away because of who you are. Not because of some specific thing you said or did, some pattern of behavior that's changeable, but because you and your life are the way they are.
And the way they are is stressful, although this year has been much less so than previous years. And although we can definitely concede her point, we're just not sure there's very much we can do about it. She hasn't reached that point in her life wherein work being stressful is just normal, and for most people, unavoidable (although, to be fair, she has survived the extraordinary "Whiplash"-like stress of music school; doubtless she's still recovering from that).
That's not to say I wouldn't like our lives to be much LESS stressful--we're both working to that end--but the main thing we need for that to happen is to have more people here, full-time, committed to this vision and way of life. Without that, just to survive, we have to take on sufficient work that is, well, pretty much always too much for us.
I know this entry isn't very coherent. I'm terribly fried. In fact, we've renamed Friday (tomorrow) "Fried-day." Just figured I should check in and let you know how things are going on my end of the world.
Oh, and I did finish another draft of my Sleepy Hollow spec. I'm waiting to hear back about it from my mentor. Fingers crossed. Writing remains my joy and salvation.
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