A chosen, solitary life

I honestly don't know if I chose this life or if it chose me.  It makes no difference I suppose as the things that matter deeply to me, aside from my family of course, is the clucking of chickens and the smell of fresh earth ready for planting.  My days have a rhythm to them that is old...a rhythm that also belonged to generations before me.  The sun comes up, there is feeding to do.  It sets and I make certain all are garnered in safely.  And in between - well, one never knows.  It could be an injured child or rabbit, teaching my kids algebra and the baby chicks where "home" is...and is not, lol.  It is gathering eggs, skimming cream off of fresh milk, and attending to seedlings as though they are babes. 

I say this is a solitary life because the largest percentage of folks I know simply do not understand.  Do not understand why I would want this when it is so different from the life that they so enjoy full of things that are supposed to make their life better.  But from where I'm standing it looks like a whole lot of smoke and mirrors.  Perhaps it's a beautiful house that somehow makes them feel important or like they have overcome something back in the recesses of their memory.  But to me it looks like a monthly mortgage payment that is so big I could pay all my monthly bills with and still have money left over.  I'm sure they would turn their nose up at my little clapboard house and say it's fine for someone else but they just couldn't live there.  But to me, it's such a beautiful thing because it is mine - 100% lock, stock, and barrel paid for in cash.  Truth be told, they don't own their mansion.  Much the other way around.  They are owned by it - and by the bank.  I guess I don't understand them any better than they understand me.  I would much rather be free.

So yes, whether I chose this life or if chose me...I don't really know.  What I do know is that I am grateful and at peace with the choice.