It seems I've coined a new word. ManorSteading. I have so long been enamoured with homesteading. The gardening, the farming, the baking, the making. I love the idea of growing my own food, raising my own animals, making my own spreads. Lighting my house by candles I rolled or poured, washing with soap I unmolded just yesterday. I grew up outside, playing in the dirt, the grass, in tree tops and swimming pools. But there's another part of me that longs for sweet gentility. For lace veils attached to black velvet top hats. For gentlemen in waistcoats. For calling cards and strolls in the park. How to have both? How to mix two seemingly unrelated lifestyles?
My research on manors and manor life uncovered something very interesting. A medieval manor was not just a large house. It was a village, a town of it's own. The manor house is where the lord and lady lived with their family. They were surrounded with acres of land, a village, a church, fields and farms. The manor grew it's own food, raised it's own life stock. Hmmm, thought I, this sounds more like it! To be the Lady of the Manor House and still bake my own bread and get dirt under my nails. Dare I dream it so?
Sagewood Manor made it so. This is where I shall experiment with this new revelation. This new shift in priority and lifestyle. Won't you join me? I welcome all who have and those who are here for the first time, a sincere welcome indeed! Business will come (as usual), on the coat tails of life (as it should be). I am in a lovely process of finally making life my own.
Baking bread seems so trivial. Why bother? There's an entire aisle at the grocery. True. Wrapped in plastic with a "use by" date stamped in blue. I made my first loaf the other evening. You should have seen us! Every time the bread machine made a noise, my husband and I would gather 'round it, peering in the window and laughing like small children. "Look! The dough ball is forming!" "I think it needs more water". "Is it ready to be taken out?" Three hours from start to finish. Slice, slather, bite. Trivial? I think not. You can keep your "use by" dates. This one won't last the week.
Tea in chipped china instantly makes me feel better. Matters not the harsh day, the biting winter weather. A sturdy cup, a bracing black tea, a pinch of sugar, I'm set. I can weather any storm. I can write any story. I can handle any phone call. A good magazine to peruse makes it all the better!
Dreaming boots. Known to most as Wellies. Wellingtons. The culmination of all my heart's desires in funky footwear from Santa. I had no idea! The plan was to save any extra cash and buy them in a month or two. The box beneath the tree, however, decided otherwise. They sit at the door, waiting eagerly, patiently for me to slip back inside. Leaving behind the 8-5 secretary charade I am forced to play, becoming the Lady of the Manor once more. My soul, my soul, found in a pair of rubber boots.