The Wild Hunt (https://wildhunt.org/tag/personal-essay/page/2)
The din had been loud inside the house, but outside, I felt like I was being buffeted by it, surrounded on all sides by argument. I felt a guilty weight in the pit of my stomach. I knew what the sound was now. I looked up and without any joy found what I expected to find.
There were exactly two black crows sitting in the branches of my tree, facing my house, yelling at me.
“What do you want?” I sighed. But I knew.
When I was a small child home was simply the house in which I lived. My parents and siblings were there, it held comfortable and familiar material belongings, and most rules and expectations were clearly defined. I was fed and cared for and most of my needs were provided for. I really did not think about how to define home because I did not know anything else. For a time, I just accepted that the environment my parents provided was what home was supposed to be. There is no clear point that I can remember when that began to change but change it did.
There is nothing strange and unapproachable, to me, about the fear of stepping outside my own door. There is nothing more sacred than the relief of coming back. There is nothing more sacred, to me, than the relief of stepping outside my own door. There is nothing strange or unapproachable about the fear of coming back.
“Creating a homestead from scratch is a long, slow process, especially for someone with very little practical experience as a gardener, zero experience with livestock and water management, and limited financial resources. At least it has been for me.”
“The last days of winter are unfolding as they should, with snow, ice, and cold temperatures starting to become balanced by days of warmer weather and increasing daylight. Sensing the nearness of spring, part of me wants to put on my fastest sneakers and gleefully run down the path to greet her. But the wheel turns as it turns, and I know I cannot hurry the seasons.”