I think I was born a few generations too late. Some of the first books I ever read were the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I was fascinated by people who made their own clothes, grew their own food and preserved it, built their houses out of logs and generally lived off the land. I hoped to one day grow up and have my own farm like the one Almanzo's family owned in Farmer Boy. I even remember trying to sew a few fabric scraps together to make something-I'm not actually sure what it was intended to be. When I learned to crochet, I tried several times to make blankets for my dolls, also an unsuccessful venture. I imagined myself milking the cows and churning the butter, just like the Wilder and Ingalls families did. I could see myself gathering the eggs and slopping the pigs and riding around on my very own horse. I dreamt of a huge garden and a cellar of Mason jars full of beans, corn, jam and jelly. I spent hours outside, climbing trees and sitting for hours just dreaming of the farm I would have someday. Alas, the farm is not to be, at least for the time being, but that doesn't stop this dreamer. Fortunately for me there has been a resurgence of do-it-yourslefers in recent years. There is plenty of information out there about how to do everything from making your own clothes to growing everything you need to eat on less that one acre of land and building your own beehives and retrieving your own honey.
Okay, so our farm full of animals is only one very naughty dog, and our garden is seven terracotta pots in the driveway, but it's a start. My sewing skills have improved slightly, and I'm working on my fifth and sixth quilts. (Yes, I have two quilts in progress simultaneously and plans for at least one more.) I check my blueberry bushes every single day, hoping for a few to turn blue so I can make some jelly, if they last that long. Billy and I are both big blueberry fans, so I can only hope we have enough left for canning after we've eaten our fill. Maybe I can at least bake a cobbler or something.