I have a strange longing for a time and life I have never been a part of.
I long for the time when one would arrive in a new place, to virgin land and there create a life and future for them selves.
I long for the challenge and pride of such a life.
To arrive and put up a 1 room shack, a barn, and a chicken coop, if you were lucky enough to have chickens. And then to begin the task of clearing land.
To clear trees and rocks. To break sod and plant and plan for the future.
To add room by room (usually 1 each year) to your home with the materials from your own land.
To use lumber from your own trees felled with your own hands. To use the rocks from your own soil to make your fireplace and chimney. And perhaps to build your house with the rocks and stones from your fields.
To add to your land orchards tree by tree. To add to your livestock animal by animal. To work hard to provide for your family year round.
I long to grow enough food for my family and livestock to take us through the year. To only buy what you can't raise yourself.
The longing so strong, the images in my mind so clear. As if I know such a life.
As though I am trying to get home.