self reliance

People have been preparing for the end of the world since the beginning of time.

These words caught my attention tonight as I stood microwaving tuna, hard cheese and my grandma’s chow chow.

Survivalists. Learning how to live off the land. Stock piling food.

People are calling them fanatics. I don’t see a thing wrong with them until they open their mouths.

It’s a shame really. How ill prepared we are. I’m not suggesting we should sit around praying for a natural disaster to prove our purpose, but when did self sufficiency become so radical?

Growing up I ate organic because that’s what my mother grew. Not because it was good for us. But because there was space and dirt and air to grow it with. Natural springs were tapped up the holler and piped into the house. Because they were there. For using.

I remain…remain…traumatised by the sheer number of blackberry bushes that ripened around this time every year. I hated…dreaded until I was blue in the face….being sent out into the acres to pick those little black buggers.

The apples that fell from the trees that I’d rather eat than lug home. The greens that grew wild and shriveled down from a bucket to a bite and made me wonder why anyone ever wasted their time in the first place. Warm milk from a stripped cow called Jersey. Eggs, when my mother wasn’t going crazy at the chickens. (I hate chickens. Almost as much as my mother does.) And all those poor little bulls and regular sized hogs who always arrived home in butchers paper with “Beef” and “Bacon” stamped on the side.

I’d live on a farm again if I didn’t have to live there. If I had someone else to do all the work. To catch the pigs. To clean the barn. To corner the cows and deal with those little green worms on the corn.

I like the idea of it all. From a couple thousand miles away. Maybe when I’m older I’ll warm to the reality.

As long as it doesn’t involve squirrels.