Windows and What's Outside

Old fashioned sink, checkered table cloth in farmhouse kitchen.

Whenever I read Organic Gardening magazine, it makes me want to raise chickens or a garden or do something productive, but I hardly ever go back in the garden except to look at how things are growing. Despite my lack of direct involvement, on those days when evening sunlight filters through the maple and the walnut, I look at the barn and a barn cat, maybe the field and fuzzy dandelions, and I'm grateful for my upbringing. I wash my dishes by hand and have done so since I was eleven. I walk. I sometimes hang laundry out to dry. My dad would push me on the tire swing. He built us a tree house and hung up a hammock. Now I wonder if I will have a window in my dorm.

Being a little hooligan with Katie, I remember an afternoon spent on the playground of Mt. Pleasant Elementary. We swore up and down we were of the wrong time, meant to grow up in the sixties and be hippies. I'll stand by the first statement. The fourth dimension has me wrongly placed. Admittedly, I enjoy each day. I love Wikipedia. The internet is a life-changing invention, but I should've been a teen in the 1970s. I should've been friends with my dad and the kids of the woods. My music is there. My style. My aversion to pure convenience.

But I'll live.