Pioneer Woman, the History

The trouble with simple living is that, though it can be joyful, rich, and creative, it isn't simple. ~Doris Janzen Longacre

I had lots of comments yesterday on the post -- most agreeing it's a good thing to continue to do the hard work and pass on knowledge. I absolutely agree.

It's amazing to me how many folks don't know you can bake or cook certain things from scratch (how exactly do they think the food companies MAKE things?). My SIL baked bread once, a kind of raisin bread that's a tradition in her family, and brought a few loaves to work. She had one worker comment, "I didn't know you could bake this at home!"

I admit to being lazy and not always WANTING to make things from scratch, but the fact is: I know how if I want to. I have recipes for bread, pizza dough, tortillas, etc. Mostly I buy them. Sometimes I make them at home.

The thing is this: I was raised by a mother who made everything from scratch.

Many, many years ago, my step-father decided we should "get back to the land" and we purchased 40 acres in a little podunk town called Mt. Aukum. I was nine years-old and we celebrated this country's bicentennial up there.

The land was undeveloped. There was an old, falling-down cabin that had been built back in the dark ages (and that we eventually tore down), and a clear spring that had been tapped and captured in a wooden barrel. That's it.

No electricity. No phone. No running water. No house. No... nothing.

My family (this includes one of my brothers and one of my sisters) lived in tents while we dug an outhouse and brought in a tiny trailer...little more than one of those pop-up campers folks use for their weeklong outdoors experiences nowadays. Eventually, a small shed was built attached to the trailer where we kids lived, while my mom and step-father lived in the trailer.

We put the trailer downhill from the spring, and a L-O-N-G hose was hooked up between the trailer and the spring -- our version of running water. We had a propane stove to cook with (I can still remember once, sitting at the table getting ready to eat when the stove did this 'WHOOSH' thing and flames shot out and singed one side of my head and hair).

It was here, with little money (my mom didn't work outside the home and my step-father ran an antiques refinishing shop) that Mom cooked.

We had a garden... a BIG one (an acre or so). We had dogs and cats and horses and chickens and eventually we got goats for milk, though that wasn't until three years later and on a different piece of property in Mt. Aukum that didn't even have a spring, and we had to haul water. I owned two pairs of pants, one long dress ala Little House on the Prairie, one pair of hiking books and a couple of shirts for each season. I wore one pair of pants for two or three days in a row to school, because my other pants had been washed by hand using a washboard and were hanging to dry.

I walked to the bus stop, just over a mile away (and it was only uphill in the snow one way *G*) every day, with my homemade lunch in hand. I usually had peanut butter and homemade jam on homemade whole wheat bread. Sometimes, my mom lucked into a big can of pie filling from our church and made homemade pies that were shaped to look like Hostess ones. I usually had a fruit of some kind, and I got free milk at school because we were poor. Mom spent her days weeding the garden, cooking, harvesting, caring for the animals, washing clothes and more. She was our Ma Ingalls.

I never felt poor. It was during a time where kids didn't really care what you wore (we didn't even have designer clothes then), or whether you listened to the right music or watched what they did on TV (after all, there were only four channels then, and my family didn't have a TV regardless).

My folks read Mother Earth magazine and lived that lifestyle. We took spit-baths in the winter, showered in the summer using outdoor shower with an Army portable shower hookup that only held five gallons of water (so... turn it on, get wet, turn it off and soap up, turn it on and rinse off).

And you know what? I never minded one bit of it. I didn't go hungry, even if I did eat a lot of beans and pea soup. I learned the names of plants and how to grow and harvest them. I learned about chickens and how to gather eggs. I learned how to raise a goat and how to milk one. I had a pony to ride and a million acres of land to tromp around on. I had friends to visit (I'd have to walk a couple of miles to get there... but it never seemed all that long then), and it never seemed as though I was deprived of anything.

And I know without a doubt if we suddenly lost everything, I could survive. It wouldn't be fun or glamorous, but I could do it. And THAT is the best heritage my mother could have given me. I hope I can pass that on to my daughter.

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You Think Best While You're Driving

In order to be able to think, you need to be able to have time to think. Problem is, there isn't a lot of time for that in your life. When you are driving, you are finally able to let your mind wander. And it wanders to some pretty interesting places. Depending on the conditions, driving can make you feel elated, relaxed, or even frustrated. All of these varying emotions spark a lot of revelations. While the thoughts you have while driving may have a lot of noise in them, there's definitely some insight to be found.

Where Do You Think Best?

Blogthings: Learn Something Surprising About Yourself

Hmmm... maybe when I'm driving alone, which is almost never anymore.

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