As I mentioned in an earlier post, one of my daughter’s childhood friends called us “old-fashioned people” when she saw our fireplace and cast-iron dutch oven. The name seems particularly fitting this week. I have felt like a pioneer woman, preparing for a huge ice storm by bringing multiple loads of firewood to the back porch and stocking up on things we could cook on the hearth. My husband filled the oil lamps and put new batteries in the radios and flashlights, so we’d be ready when the power went out.
We’ve kept a fire going each afternoon and evening, and we’ve made great progress on our knitting projects. Hers is much more elaborate than mine, and she’s using yarn she spun and plied herself, so she gets the gold medal for old-fashionedness. But I’m catching up. Today she offered to teach me how to spin, and for the first time I held a drop-spindle in my hands and turned a tiny bit of wool into yarn. Will wonders never cease?
I’m glad I don’t have to make my own yarn, dip my own candles, weave my own cloth, and cook all my meals over an open fire. I like modern life far too much to want to go back in time. But there is something deeply satisfying in the old-fashioned arts of homemaking. After a hectic few months of work, it’s lovely to stop and enjoy the simple life.
Time to pop some popcorn over the fire . . .