I have land envy.
I’ve read recently that more and more people (women) who obsessively browse Pinterest get really sad and dejected and depressed because they don’t have a perfect kitchen or an organized and color-coordinated linen closet or make magical sparkle cookies and crafts with their kids on a daily basis. I get that. I often feel the same way when I’m reading some of the blogs I follow as they always seem to lead such perfect little lives.
But my sad/dejected/depressed-inducing surfing comes from the blogs of people who have land. Who own chickens and sheep. Who spin their own yarn in front of a cast iron stove. Who don’t own TVs. Who make money on their words or crafts. Who can take a walk in the woods on their land. Who knit their own shawls and children’s clothing.
I’m a little in awe of these people. You might even say I have a crush on their lives.
I mentioned this once a long time ago to E….it was more specifically about someone we know who makes their life out to be really happy and shiny all the time and how that bothered me because I’m not like that and I never will be and I wear my heart in the middle of my face for the whole world to see and I assume everyone dislikes me. And he, in his infinite wisdom, said that the internet, and blogs especially, can be pretty great as you can choose which face to put on for it. And he was sure that this particular person wasn’t always happy and shiny as their online presence might otherwise suggest.
And it’s probably true of the land people too. They don’t post pictures of having to scoop up poop or deal with sick animals. They don’t post pictures of slaughter days (okay…well….one of them did). They don’t share their knitting disasters. They don’t reminisce about how long it took them to get to the point where they could live off some of their land or how much work goes into it. They don’t share the hard things.
They actually might, but in my “grass is always greener” mood, I only see the beauty in their lives. They may practice selective posting, but I also practice selective coveting, so it goes both ways.
I struggle with our lack of a yard. With our late-1990s era townhome, which is really just a glorified condo. I struggle with the fact that when I slide the glass door open to let B out to play, it’s on a patio above a driveway rather than a place where he can dig in the dirt and get his toes in the grass. I struggle with the fact that I have to select plants for my “garden” that will do well in containers. In a desert climate. And even then, they still die. I even struggle with the fact that I sometimes feel like the neighbors are judging me because I’m not at the park every.waking.minute letting B run around to his heart’s content and instead have him trapped inside or on the patio because I have to get things done around here.
And I struggle with not just being more connected to the land. As cheesy as that may sound, the older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve desired to really be surrounded by nature. By calm. By quiet.
Despite my struggles, though, I know I need to be thankful. I am thankful for this place and how much better it is than the place we lived in before. I am thankful that I at least have a little patio to grow a few pots of vegetables, herbs, and flowers on. I am thankful that I’m comfortable in my home and not fearful. Most of all, though, I am thankful that my little family lives together under this roof…..this is where we are together.
I do hope, though, to someday have that land. A little plot of earth where B can make mud pies and I can have a little garden and chickens and E can do whatever he wants with the ground he calls his own. I am definitely holding on to that dream.
Until then, I farm on my patio and live vicariously through the land blogs. And learn to be thankful for what I have.