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Posts Tagged ‘home’

They were not large carrots. And I have already eaten two of them, chewing thoroughly; they taste like home.

That is not a figurative statement. The dirt, the sun, the water… The town I grew up in fed these carrots; the dirt I excavated in inexplicable childhood projects and the water I drank for most of my first 20 years went into these carrots.

Of course I’ve eaten fruit from that garden before: grapes, currants, tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, peppers, peas… I don’t know why I hadn’t sensed Home in those so strongly — maybe I didn’t have the vocabulary, maybe I usually ate them at that location, not hundreds of miles away. Maybe root vegetables concentrate earthiness and location more than other produce. I could understand that.

Or maybe the little carrots I typically eat these days are such overbred little hydroponic sugar crunchies that homegrown carrots, however small, shout their truth very loudly.

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I know, I know: that’s supposed to be March, not January. But that is what we’ve got: 40-50mph winds out of the northwest, scouring December out of our bones, and gleefully highlighting every deficiency in the envelope of our house. Brr!

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Back before my Beloved and I were courting, I was house-sitting at a place where there were some fairly traumatized animals. Their people had gone away, and the first house-sitter turned out to be a bit [!] more flighty than had originally been anticipated….so the animals were lonely, neglected, having accidents, getting into fights with neighborhood bullies, and generally not coping well.

The first night I was taking over the task, I came to the house, and Word came along to share a meal — one that we’d prepare in the kitchen and eat in the dining room. It was a fairly mundane meal; I can’t exactly recall what we had. [There was certainly garlic involved!]

But the animals were very interested. People had not been using the kitchen for months. People had not come in at this time of day for a long time. So we were sniffed and strictly supervised. No begging, but lots of tail wagging, purring, and scampering from one room to the next, following us around.

People were in the kitchen, chopping and stirring, and moving through the rooms. People were stopping to praise and pet the animals. People were making sure there was water and food for the animals before serving themselves food.

I started a fire in the firebox and the animals soon curled up in their accustomed sleeping spots near the fireplace or on the couches. The message I got was: “You aren’t our people, but you are normal people!”

It was a rather restful evening for everyone, I think.

Tonight, I don’t think I’ll fire up the pellet stove [it needs to be cleaned out first, and checked by a sweep], but I might open the Beaujolais, and my Beloved and I can enjoy our meal [then I have to go grade papers…]

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