Those who have known me for quite sometime know that I don't sleep well and never have. My mother has often shared the fun fact that as a baby, I did not sleep through the night until I was a year and a half old and that required a prescribed sedative. This never improved and as a youngster, I was often awake late nights, huddled up with my book light or a small flashlight reading. In college, I was ridiculously proud of my ability to only need one and a half hours of sleep a night and, therefore, I was able to accomplish so much. Of course, there was also that one morning I was informed by my roommate that I had been up walking around the room, doing my Latin homework, and crocheting a blanket all night when I was convinced I had been sleeping.
Well, thankfully, I'm older now and this insomnia seems to have lessened itself considerably. I average about five to six hours a night and lately I have been upping that to seven, so its only taken 36 years to correct this insomnia affliction. I'll count that as a good thing and its better late than never, however there are still days I miss my insomnia for the simple fact that I got a lot done. My father has always said if there were six more hours in a day, I would find something new to fill those extra hours with and truly would never have any extra time. He may be right.
Occasionally, my old friend insomnia does visit. Usually on nights like tonight when my mind is whirling with things I can't quiet enough to fall asleep, so rather than sit there staring at the ceiling waiting for sleep to claim me, I am up in the kitchen and cooking.
Tonight, I am making a lentil soup that can cook the rest of the night in the crock pot. Its perfect really. I have a friend who has just undergone surgery and is recovering who will enjoy some and this time of year I almost always have a pot of soup Phil, Angela, and I can eat through during the week when things are busy between work, farm duties, and school. Not to mention, with Angela, my 18 year old goddaughter, living with us, there are often her friends visiting too and they are always appreciative for a nice bowl of homemade soup. More than all of these very good reasons though is the preparations of the soup which I find to be very soothing and cathartic. Something about washing, peeling, and chopping vegetables, mixing spices, and mincing garlic just sets my mind at ease.
The soup recipe I'm trying calls for five cloves of garlic. This is not adequate. I am always very liberal with garlic for many reasons and this is not exception. Last summer, at the Poulsbo Farmer's Market where I have a booth for my soap business, I bought a braid of garlic from one of the local farmers. She said they were a variety called Italian Rose and they would last well through June of this year. They were so prettily arranged and braided and the garlic so beautiful, I couldn't resist it. Tonight, about 10 cloves of garlic went into the crockpot and I have no regrets about it. I can see now why the garlic is called Italian Rose, a lovely purple skin covers each clove. I look forward to growing and braiding my own garlic in the years to come. The idea of growing my own food, preserving and storing it in my root cellar and using it to prepare meals for my family and friends is one that has followed me for years and I am excited at the prospect of it coming true.
So, now, as I write this, everything is in the crockpot slowly transforming into a lovely soup (I hope) and there's bread rising in my bread machine. Yes, I admit it freely, this is where I am less of a homesteader at heart. I love fresh baked bread, but I do allow myself to be spoiled by modern technology in this regard. I appreciate very much the freedom my bread machine affords me. I use it regularly these days. Soup and bread go so well together - a very effective pair when it comes to comfort and healing. I think my friend will enjoy them, provided they both turn out tomorrow morning (fingers crossed). I have my two bowls of scraps - one for the pigs (carrot peelings, squash skins and seeds, etc.) and one for my vegetable broth ingredient bag in the freezer (garlic skins, onion skins, celery tips and leaves, etc.).
I have no other reason to be awake now except for the company of my old friend insomnia. Its different having this friend visit now that I'm not studying for a final or writing a paper or completing any assignment. No, there is nothing like that in my life now. I could read and I love to read, but my mind is wandering tonight and it is a particularly beautiful night here at Crow's Croft Farm. The Snow Moon is out in a clear sky with only an occasional cloud passing through. There are rumors of an eclipse tonight and a comet, but I haven't checked the times.
Ilta, my faithful black lab, is curled up at my feet as I write this. She has already followed me around this evening, enjoyed a carrot or two off the cutting board, and sat by me on the back porch and looked at the moon with me. She doesn't mind nights like these it seems and always sticks close to me. She and I were just out a little while ago, listening to the sounds of the creek and looking at this little place we call home under the glow of moonlight. There is less traffic on the road at this hour, so the creek's babble seems louder. We got two inches of rain yesterday alone and the creek is really moving and sounding more like a river.
The Snow Moon lives up to its name for certain. The full moon of February, it gets its name merely by being associated with a time of year when snowfall is the most abundant in a majority of places. For me, it means something different. Everyone seems to have that one month out of the calendar that they find to be their least favorite - that one month where everything unpleasant or difficult seems to take place. For me, its February. The shortest calendar in the month, but somehow the longest one in the calendar for me. I despise leap years, because it means February is one day longer. I have struggled for years to turn this idea on its head and focus my attention on the things that are pleasant about February. I have noticed the robins return during this month, the light at dusk is clinging longer so its not quite dark yet at 5pm anymore, and the crocuses are starting to pop their heads up even through the snow (if there is any). This year, we've had quite a bit of snow for the Pacific Northwest and I have enjoyed seeing Crow's Croft farm blanketed it white. Still, February has a dark underbelly for me - I am restless and suffering from cabin fever and I am haunted by memories of unpleasant occurrences of the past.
In the old days, the Snow Moon was also called the Hunger Moon since winter stores were nearly gone and the weather made hunting and gathering extremely difficult. In the modern aspect of things and in a lot of ways figuratively speaking, this makes sense with how I feel about this full moon and the month in which it falls. It always seems like there is a still pause this time of year - time seems to slow, things seem heavier, and everything is captured in this sort of limbo. For me, this month carries hard memories and usually new challenges and this year is no different for me and for the people around me. I begin my battle with it by planning things - planning my garden, planning house projects, etc. - but that only carries me so far and then there I am, waiting again, hungering and pacing...for the weather to change, for things to happen in order to put said plans into action. I feel I am struggling to dig my way out of the darkness, out of the snow, out of all the things that seem to make me feel weighed down and gloomy. I lack motivation, I procrastinate, and I justify reasons for both. In short, I'm in a funk and its damned hard to get out of it.
Eventually though, usually after the Snow Moon in February, I find that I start to turn my mindset intentionally. I wasn't always good at this, but I'm better at it each year. I am still restless and I am still gloomy, but less so and I find myself battling it in little ways that make a difference for me. I'm figuratively shoveling the snow and digging myself out, moving forward to the spring time when I can stop planning and start doing things again. I know I'm not alone in this feeling. Many people I know are dealing with their own struggles be it health, family, friendships, lovers, finances...you name it. I know that this year will be like all the ones before it where after the full moon things start to go into motion. Not fast, not instant, but slightly moving out of a frozen state - the wheels slowly starting to turn again even if only a tiny bit at a time. Like the crocus that bravely peeks its head up through the snow and continues towards growing and blooming despite the threatening cold and burdensome dreariness surrounding it, we all begin to move. Stasis is dangerous and as hard as slogging through the February days feels, there is one indisputable fact that keeps me slogging forward - it will end. March will come, the flowers will bloom like they always do. I try to will them to come sooner by focusing on those things that bring me peace and a sense of calm I struggle to maintain this time of year. Even if it is a silly thing like cooking soup and bread in the middle of the night and blogging my late night, insomnia ridden musings for you all to read.
The Snow Moon is sailing high over Crow's Croft tonight. Its light is creating a dim square of pale light through the skylight in the living room. There are no sounds in the house except the occasional creak of the logs settling, a stir of the chimes on the porch by the wind, the tick of the cuckoo clock, and Ilta's soft snoring drifting up from beneath the table. The house smells like the comforting concoctions I have setup to cook slowly overnight and my friend insomnia is slowly working towards departure after my third cup of chamomile tea. Another February is halfway gone and I am looking forward to Spring.
No comments:
Post a Comment