House Home

our first shower

our first shower in la tigra ūüôā

 

In 2006 my husband Felipe and I packed two bags, fifty thousand dollars and the dream of a self sustainable life. We moved to his tiny home town in rural México. We were there almost nine years getting a whopping lesson in dream meets reality.

Four months ago, I packed one bag and left for Nicaragua. I had fifty bucks, and the idea that perhaps Felipe would join me. As followers of this blog know, he did; he came with one bag and 1500 dollars in the bank from selling our pigs.

This is to say, I know a little bit about up and moving to another country. You might guess the hardest part is making it happen, but in my experience, the difficulty is making it home.

When I moved into in my new apartment in Nicaragua I was elated. It was so clean! No crumbling  walls, no stumbling into the forest  before dawn due to broken plumbing, no corners of impenetrable grime. Seven years with no money for house maintenance = hovel. But after a few months of white walls and dark wood I missed character, even if that meant something beyond patina.

I wish I could say I remedied¬†this¬†deficit with¬†something more apparently meaningful¬†say… volunteering or starting to write ¬†a new book, but…I went shopping, at the Nica version of home depot no less!

Pillows!

Pillows!

 

I bought pillows, and place mats, an apron and wineglasses and¬†a vase!¬†Best of all… I bought two big bright coffee mugs. They aren’t as grande as the big green mug that held my hand as I stuttered through my recitations last year, but ¬†they’re an investment in wake up happy.

IMG_0438

Wake up happy!

 

Felipe¬†visited the Pierda Rahda last week, I’m¬†pleased to report¬†he found River and Monty fat and wild, and our¬†cats still inhabiting the adobe and turning there nose up at the food our caretaker puts down for them everyday. I could have asked him to bring my big green mug, but I feel better knowing it’s there, waiting for me to¬†drink in¬†sunrise under the amate someday.

I guess I am not yet totally here -but I’m closer.

What’s your first step in making a house a home?

Where in the World…

have I been? Street Art ChicagoPerhaps those of you who have been reading vsvevg for awhile are wondering if I truly mean to continue with this blog.

I do.

But recently I’ve been traveling.

And my long suffering Laptop died.

My desk, and internet stick in the cow pasture office.

My desk, and internet stick in the cow pasture office.

I have returned to Nicaragua with a new laptop(which apparently has a very delicate publish button, I accidently published this post before it was finished!?)I’ll be back with as soon as I learn how to use it ūüôā Saludos, Abby

The Road from Farm to Table

Self Sustainable. Organic. Farm to Table. Appealing words‚ÄĒ admirable concepts. But ¬†we¬†seldom consider what it entails to bring such belief systems to fruition; how we navigate the road from farm‚Ķto table.

Farmer Chris and Sous Chef Adam on Machete Duty

Farmer Chris and Sous Chef Adam on Machete Duty

This week at Rancho Santana’s chicken facility our farm and kitchen staff walked that path.

Felipe and Omar Plucking

Felipe and Omar Plucking

Melky and Justin Butchering

Melky and Justin Butchering

Hen to plate.

Sautéed Chicken Liver with Radish, Fennel Frond Salad

Sautéed Chicken Liver with Radish, Fennel Frond Salad

The next generation.

The next geration

Becoming a Horizon

Kind of like home, but with a beach!

Kind of like home, but with a beach!

I am an intrepid decision maker, but sometimes my coping skills struggle to keep up with the fearless nature of my choices. The past several weeks I’ve been scrambling to acclimate to modern life.

When I lived at the Piedra Rahada I felt well organized when I knew what day of the week it was, rich when there was an extra 10 pesos for beer;  thus, carrying internet on my body, honoring schedules, disposable cash and availability of products, have left me feeling rattled and unfocused.

But thankfully,last year I gave my self the gift of walking while memorizing poetry; Mr. Strand and the ocean are bringing me back to center.