Of Gypsies and Cowboys

There's a couldron of chickpea curry simmering on the woodstove as pastry for the newest crop of apples chills in the fridge. Jem is chasing a pair of chipmunks by the bird feeder out front while J continues work up at the barn. My apron is floured and I'm wearing awkwardly thick socks stuffed into garishly turqoise crocks. The air has warmed to a 'normal' fall temperature and two doors are open to accomodate baby and dog as they move in and out between adventures.

I'm tired and well.

I think there must be several stages to finding home and digging in roots, and I think it may be a deeper and more involved process than we may first expect. While we can have points of relief or happiness, I think there are more intricate layers of trust and ownership and participation which have to be experienced before one moves towards an honest and lasting rootedness which brings a mixture of joy and solidarity, even in the face of change or question.
Anyways. I don't know, I'm just starting to feel or see something on the horizon that is good. We've had so many changes, so many places of dwelling, so many valuable experiences and pit stops. I'm hoping this is all of those, but so much more.