This is the Expected and Holy Day (April 2015) by Katie

“It must be nice to have a slower pace to life.” I hear this a lot when I travel to the office for work. And there’s truth to what they say, even if it isn’t my felt experience. Life seems busy; busier, even, than my ‘fast paced’ city or suburban life, but the tasks that keep me going “from can to can’t” take time.

I used to wake up five minutes before I had to run to my car, because I could. I’d roll out of bed, throw on some clothes, brush my teeth, and out I went. Here, it takes thirty minutes to get a fire going if you’ve lost the coals. In the summer it was the morning time that made the most sense to pick your harvest from the garden, since the afternoon would be spent prepping it for canning, freezing, or eating.

Taking care of animals has its seasonal occupations as well. In the winter, there’s keeping water in its liquid state, and picking away at frozen chunks of chicken shit so you can open the coop door (#Living the dream). In the summer, it’s chasing the escapees who are tempted beyond the fence for the lush surroundings.

And while this all keeps me moving forward, it does so at a slower pace. One does not simply catch a chicken. It’s a sluggish herding process. If you hurry, it takes longer, especially when you have an easily excited dog as your shadow.

It’s not a matter of opening the fridge, or turning a dial for the heat. Those are aspects of a fast paced life. And I’m sure I lose some accomplishments by spending more time taking the ‘hard’ way. But I gain two things:

#1: A bit of boredom.

Not distraction. Not numbing. Boredom. A special state that leads to increased awareness and thought. Weeding the poison hemlock from the garden is repetitive, and does not stimulate my mind in the same way reading a book or writing a curriculum does. But it stimulates me in other ways. I tune in to the color and shape of the plant; the sounds of my efforts; the smells of the mud; the very moment I’m living in.

It’s the same when I wash my clothing by hand. It takes an incredible amount of time, and keeps me from the other successes a day can hold, but it also brings me outside, delights my ears with the sound of sloshing water, and anoints my hands and feet with a welcome coolness in summer.  I take note of my clothing in a new way; the fabric and stitching; the memories of the dirt and stains.

#2: Relationships.

All this boredom and stillness and noticing allows me to develop relationships. Noticing when the blue jays return, and what the crows are up to. Listening to a hen lay an egg while I pick tomatoes, then collecting that egg and turning it into a meal with those tomatoes, returning the scraps to her coop coming full circle.

I am motivated in a new way to identify trees; to know their density and where to find them in the forest. Harvesting wood is very relational, lifting their heavy bodies one by one into a truck. Feeling the lay of the land on unpaved roads. Pushing a chainsaw through them, then using your whole body to swing an axe and chop that wood. Carrying it into your home piece by piece and sitting patiently as you try to get it to catch. And then feeling the heat blow over your face when you stand directly above the stove. It’s something you don’t hurry away from.