E-mails To My Loved Ones: Farm chores after an ice storm

This morning has been full of slipping and sliding and me questioning the sanity of owning this kind of a farm in Alaska.  First off, I forgot my snow pants at home, which is fine because I have Carhartt's here...but, the snow pants definitely would have been worth it with how many times I ended up on my butt, my knees, my side....whatever hit the ground first.

Starting off, the wagon to carry the water is covered in a nice layer of ice, so I decided to carry two buckets at a time instead.  On my first attempt, I slipped, spilled the entire uphill bucket, creating a super slick ice luge which I slid down about ten feet, completely drenching the back side of my lower half in water.  Plus, I was wearing Evan's size 12 (men's) boots as they do have better traction than mine.  So, they filled with water, too.  Awesome.  I did the water first, for some reason, so I had to do the rest of the chores wet and with squishy boots.  All the while, Eddie (the donkey) is heehawing his brains out like he hasn't eaten in weeks.

I slip many times while carrying the hay, but only one full-out-flat-on-my-back-fall (with an accompanying "I F#$*ING HATE THIS!" yell to the heavens, while spread eagle on the ground). 

I finish doing the chores with little incident, and I try to imagine I am on a farm in Ireland that has been in my family for generations--even the milking cow has come from a long line of dutiful milk producers bred generation after generation on this land.  This is a freak ice storm in an otherwise idyllic setting.  This kind of works.  

But then I decide that I might as well muck since I'm already wet and dirty.  I slip again, shovel in one hand, two mucking buckets in the other, again ending up arms wide open, flat on my back, my elbow hurts a bit. I wonder if I have landed in shit.  Again, an accompanying "F&#*ING HELL WHY DO PEOPLE FARM HERE!?!?" and a string of muttered profanities.

I muck, Moki finds her favorite pieces of shit to eat.  Sorrel digs at the snow, presumably uncovering a prized, perfectly frozen, piece of shit.

I return to the house, slip sliding the whole way, Moki and Sorrel struggle up little hills.  We make it inside.  I take off my wet pants and socks, my ass is bright red and numb.  I get the sweetened condensed milk/dulce de leche (made from the fresh milk that makes all of this work worth it) and a container of almonds.  I eat spoonfuls of sweet, caramel-y goodness while my ass thaws out.  The dogs are sleeping, and there happen to be Irish ballads playing on NPR (to go with my fantasy farm).

Oh, and that first time I slipped with the two buckets of water--I saved one of 'em! so the pigs got one bucket of water, and I didn't attempt to carry any more.  They'll be fine.

Green.

As the green dies
outside,
It grows
inside.

Within these walls
basil thrives
just barely.

Within this skull,
I'm green with...
well, you know.

If all of that green
would make its way
to my thumb,
          travel from the anterior cingulate cortex
          to the action and reaction of giving and taking life
          of plants, of animals and of the soil.

Pizza

Reindeer in lieu of chicken
is what our receipt said.

We must be in Alaska.

Primal

I fed some pigs the other day
and some cows
chickens and ducks, too.
Some were young,
one a needy calf

Sustaining life is such respite
No room for skepticism
because there is nothing to pick apart

Hunger is fed
Thirst is quenched
Heat and shelter provided
All by a person in a green jacket
Carrying buckets of water
to a cozy barn
in a valley

Caving

The advocate waits around a clipped unfortunate. What is a clipped unfortunate? You may ask...well, it's something that would have been really unfortunate, nearly devastating, if it hadn't been clipped. That's right, devastating, about as bad as the time the advocate brought a bologna sandwich to a PETA conference...hey, he was just an advocate, he couldn't afford the vegogna.

..........

Alright, I'm doing it.  I'm going to try to get paid to blog.  Why not?  I enjoy writing, and I'm not opposed to shamelessly plugging someone's product (as long as I approve of the product) to the handful of people that read my posts.  Furthermore, if I have the possibility of getting some cash for blogging, there is a 100% chance (is it a chance any more at 100%?) that I will post more often than once every three months.  In order to prove that I own this blog....I had to post the first line of this blog as a verbatim line that the payperpost folks sent me.  It seemed like an interesting line to start a short short story.

Broken

While unpacking

I found this picture of you

It had broken in transit

The one of you sitting on a black chair

With a white background

Floating

Our pictures are there too

I am on the same chair

In the same white room

There are shadows in mine, though

Our pictures are unscathed

Funny what shatters

And what doesn't.

The Universe will Open Doors

Bliss is an oft overlooked emotion.  When do we hear anyone refer to his or her state as "blissful"?  We have "wedded bliss", the idiomatic "getting blissed out," there are cities named "Bliss," people named "Bliss," and plenty of companies trying to capitalize on the idea of "bliss" (although, can we really attain bliss at 50% off?).  There are films, cartoons, bands and artists named or alluding to this elusive feeling.  I have felt bliss in the not so distant past.  It is such a distinct feeling, yet it is characterized by a state of near emptiness or openness.  Being carefree and full of so much euphoria there is no room for any negativity is bliss.  It is much more than happiness, yet it seems that being happy is an integral part of bliss. However, happiness has less to do with bliss than I previously thought.

Dictionaries contain several definitions for bliss, most commonly, "a state of supreme happiness or contentment" or "the ecstatic joy of heaven."  (The latter makes me think of the great disappointment that was May 21, or Jesus' failed "rapture."  I, and many more, expected so much more!).  Yoga teachers love the word.  I'm not sure if yogis love the word.  I'm not sure if I'm a yogi.  However, I do love yoga, and I often do feel bliss after a good yoga session, or while attempting to follow a more yogic lifestyle.  I can enter a yoga session with a mind full of aggression, a body distracted by some discomfort, and the patience of a toddler in a waiting room;  upon rolling out of a few minutes in sivasana, I am truly blissful in mind, body and spirit. 

I've been trying to pay attention to personal instances of bliss for a little while now, and I have a short mental list of times I've noted it...it is most commonly recognized after the fact.  I feel bliss when my hands are in the dirt, and I can witness plants grow.  I feel it when I hear my nieces laugh in unison, when I can read in the open air and when I dream of vacations unvacationed.  I feel it when Evan kisses me on the cheek in the morning and when I get to cook with my mother (and I definitely feel it when I eat my mom's desserts!).  

So, you three faithful readers of my blog, what blisses you out?  what brings you to this magical state of mind?  I hope you are well, and enjoying these long days approaching the summer solstice.

Be blissful.