Who says wives have nice hands? I look down and first, I see my mother's hands. Then, I see hands that have weathered the demands of heating an old drafty house with wood. And countless hours washing dishes. Cleaning out water buckets for the goats and the dogs. Bathtime for toddler. Washing hands before, during, and after preparing food. And let's not forget gardening.
I have lotion in the kitchen. In the bedroom. In the bathroom. Do I put it on? YES! but then, I wash my hands or find them in some form of water, shortly thereafter. What's the point?!
Ingrown nails. Badly dehydrated and cracking, peeling cuticles. Beyond repair, it seems.
I used to have acrylic nails, getting them 'filled' every two weeks or so. I liked the way they looked. And kept polish on. Then I had my son. Haven't seen a nail salon but once or twice since, and that was for a manicure/pedicure! Do I miss having nice hands? Yes. Is it worth it? Yes. My hands are proof, to myself, that I work hard (enough).
They are my 'weather-vane' of farmlife. Through the seasons, the demands on my hands will change, and that's ok. I'll keep putting lotion on them, fruitlessly, if only to take away the "going to crack open any minute" feeling.
I have my mother's hands. They are strong, they are ugly, and they deserve appreciation.
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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