The snow fell tentatively at first, but by morning there was one big floof of thick white softness over the landscape and flakes were still coming down. I was glad for it. The children would be completely distracted by snowballs and forts and sledding and that would leave me with a spell of quietness broken only by the massive heating system regularly blowing warmth into the rooms.
I decided to make doughnuts, because a neighbor long ago made it a tradition to bring us fresh baked doughnuts on the first snow, and somehow my children now expect such things to be undeniably done, neighbors or not. I envisioned wet and cold ruddy-cheeked children with mugs of hot cocoa and doughnuts, a table of laughter and gratefulness. So I peeled and chopped the apples for filling and let it sit upon the stovetop with the typical apple seasonings of cinnamon and whatnot.
As I was working the dough, I thought about the site preparation we were in the midst of. Our septic report had came back fortunately-unfortunately. Fortunately, we could have a septic system. Unfortunately, it could not be gravity fed, but rather one in which mounds would not only be visible, but also require the annual and billed inspection by whomever with a badge upon our property to scrutinize its careful and continued operation. Appropriate, perhaps, given the soil conditions. But in practice, in the best light, an annoyance. Do we want this annoyance? I wrapped the dough to rise and stared outside as the tea kettle warmed, watching my children sledding with the dog tumbling around joyously and flipping powdering snow every which way. What to do with this land we’ve bought now? And what is it about having your own proper piece of land to own that seems to make the world a little more secure?
Some days, I’m more dispirited by the borrowing. Borrowing homes, borrowing land, borrowing time. And then, in the we-hope right time, borrowing money for a mortgage. Other days, I feel a sense of freedom in knowing I belong nowhere whatsoever, that I can BE anywhere at all in the world. On days when I feel like I’ve perhaps gone to pieces in homesickness—an odd orphan landless sort of gnawing—I find myself decluttering even more. Am I reading or rereading all of these books on shelves? Is anyone here, in any way, reading or referencing them? No. Why do I keep them? They’re….neat? And so forth, the questions and internal dialogue within my head continues. Daunted by circumstances and restrictions and regulations in which I have no control, I find myself emboldened and energized by throwing things away, lightening our load further, finding even more s-p-a-c-e within our living quarters (which, ironically, shrinks with every expunging of superfluous material goods). The current house plan we are considering for the nine of us still living at home full time is just more than 2000 square feet. Is that too much? Too limiting? Just right?
I start the salted caramel for the doughnut dip while sipping my tea, a lovely blend called Prince of Wales tea. It’s difficult for me not to imagine Prince Charles, the early 1980’s version I remember with Princess Dianna, when I see the box. I wonder if he drinks his own tea. I wonder if his mind wanders like mad all over the place in a spot of quiet as well. Does he ever have to think about septic systems? Prince Albert did, I think, back in the day.
The doughnuts are fried up, filled and dipped. Dripping coats and hats and boots and socks and scarves are peeled off and litter the entire entry way and part of the living room as well. I haven’t the energy to fuss over it and instead fill up the mugs. Laughter and gratefulness indeed fills up the table. And with a table like that, I think, who needs land?
Blessings,
