On Urban Country.

I have long held a dream of living in the country/mountains/forest/not suburbia where I am as off the grid as possible. Growing my own food, baking my own bread, fixing my own home. I am at this point in my life, however, almost as far from this dream as I could be. The view from my kitchen window that should be over a sloping field leading to the edge of trees and the sound of a creek in the distance, is in actuality a view of dirty siding from the shopping center that my apartment complex butts up to. There is, however, a fountain in the courtyard that kind of sounds like a babbling brook (if you close your eyes and use your imagination).

Over the last few years as this dream has drifted further and further from reality, where my homes have been in the center of Hollywood, in the center of Portland, or other various apartments with views of commerce and no yard, I have been learning to find small ways to incorporate this dream into my everyday life. The main premise behind wanting such a self-sustaining life is because it’s simple, because it’s human. Not until the last 100 years or so have the mass of humanity (in the Western World anyway) been inundated by modern conveniences and lost the skills of the history of humanity. Although this sounds very anti-feminist of me, it pains me that women of my generation and even my mother’s generation don’t know how to sew, bake, cook, or hem a dress. These are things that hundreds of years of our mothers have done and that knowledge is stopping with so many families in this generation (Now, for the record, I cannot sew (not even a slight clue) and I cannot hem a dress, but I can cook and I can bake).

When I bake a loaf of bread and start kneading it I feel a connection, however obscure or imagined, to the history of humans behind me. My great-great-great-great grandmother and beyond did this very same thing in her kitchen to sustain her family and move time on so that it arrived at today. And it makes me happy and makes me feel human to do something so simple. And there is nothing like a fresh loaf of bread.

If you look back a few blog entries you will see that I was excited to be starting a garden. And I profiled my past failed garden attempts because break-ups or moves had interrupted them. I believe I lamented that I was cursed to never have a garden, and I was excited that I had the opportunity to start another. Well, it appears I am cursed, as a break-up/move has interrupted my gardening attempt. I am again in an apartment with no yard. But, there is some outdoor space for containers! So, I am going to make the most of it and find joy in my unhappiness. Now, outside my kitchen window, in front of the wall with dirty siding I have a little container garden. And it’s the simple things like getting dirt on my hands (even if it’s dirt in a pot) that makes me feel happy and human.