I had a bunch of things I wanted to write yesterday, but in keeping with field-mouse-ology, I forgot most of them overnight and then this morning, can't remember any of them. Must be the cold night air.
There's been a lot of mice, I'm sure, in this old farmhouse. The pantry is a popular hangout, as evidence left leaves one to assume that there might be more than one visiting regularly.
Oh that reminds me, I stepped on one night before last. Yes, I said I stepped on a mouse. I'm assuming he was in there gathering some more dog food to put neatly in a pile in the corner for me to find later. And some more for his friends. But, alas, he gathers no more.
They seem to come inside in the winter, and I for one, can't blame them. I didn't want to be inside this old farmhouse this summer either. The hottest summer on record in who-knows-how-long.
But this post really wasn't supposed to be about mice. This just shows how my self-appointed-stolen-fair-and-square nickname of "fieldmouse brain" fits so aptly. It matches the farmhouse decor. Or is that aura? I can't remember.
Living in a 117 year old farmhouse isn't for sissies. It's occasionally annoying, sometimes fun, and always makes one grateful for the comforts in this technology-laden era in which we dwell.
This is my blog about living in a farmhouse. And everything that goes along with it, which can be confusing and sometimes misleading. And always at least slightly entertaining.
Now that we've been informally introduced. I'm going to post a picture. Somewhere. If I can remember how.
Simply put-this is a blog about the city girl I used to be-the country girl I am now-and the things that are important to me. This is about the journey of life from the tiny to enormous and joyous bits in between. Here we are learning the hard way about gardening, homesteading, canning, solar-living, wood-cookstoving, animal husbandry and wearing out a lot of flip-flops along the way.
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