Bearing it All

I'm not gonna lie, some days all I want to do is throw the apron down and call it quits. When I first started this journey I was binge watching cooking shows and using all the right lingo. Hell's Kitchen, MasterChef, Gordon Ramsay's travels through Asia, looking for local delicacies. I was working on artful and unusual and unexpected flavor pairings, I was working on plating, I was working on honing cooking techniques and knife skills. A simple scroll through my feed will show posts from 2-3 years ago and more that could easily depict where my head was at the time. I was serious. I was focused. I was fresh and energetic. Sure, I wasn't professional or trained in a school, but I was a work in progress and still felt well within my rights to call myself "Chef".

I also had only 2 toddlers at the time, and later, a third, but still. My days were simpler, their needs were more easily and quickly met. And all through it I kept telling myself I didn't have to sacrifice all my hopes & dreams to be a homeschool mom, that both were doable, side by side. What were my hopes and dreams, again? They seem to have gotten lost somewhere in the beast of the internet. You fall in early and idealistic and somewhere in there you lose yourself. Everything becomes one enormous, constant feed that doesn't leave much room for individuality. Or rather, individuality isn't so much valued anymore where everyone is an individual. The lines become blurred, people forget you and just scroll by, and somewhere in there I've lost my sense of purpose.

Is this what burnout feels like? Am I experiencing my midlife crisis early? Or is this one of those things that's more deep seated and won't have an answer until I've applied a solution? I want so badly to leave city life and live on a farm. Some girls dream of dresses and purses, and there was a time when i wanted the same. But in my teenage years and later mine were full of sights and smells, dirt caked under my bitten nails, soot on my face from tossing the coals in the roaring fireplace I dreamed of, fur on my clothes, hay in my hair, the smell of wood everywhere, chickens clucking and hobbling around on their toothpick legs, cows swishing their tails, muscles twitching as they felt flies landing on their skin, knocking their hooves against the soft earth.

I used to work for a small Zoo at a Jewish sleep-away camp for girls in Narrowsburg, NY. Four summers in a row I took the same job, the last year being my last time as a single woman. There is nothing in this world like caring for animals. It wasn't always pleasant. Ever try taking a calf's temperature? Or catching and holding down an alpaca so medicine can be administered? As those who worked hard alongside me (and often harder) can attest to, I've been scratched up by wild bunnies, kicked in the chest by a donkey, bitten by a boa constrictor, had a kitten vomit on me and do its business in my suitcase. And to this day it all still brings a smile to my face. I did that. I was there. I raked up that manure into a wheelbarrow and hauled it all the way out back past the zoo where it could be disposed of safely. I fed those animals, many times at the crack of dawn when it was my turn to. I made the tortoise its salad because it loves fruits and veggies. I held a baby goat while it suckled milk from a bottle.

But more than what I did, I witnessed. I watched animals bring children with special needs so much joy. I watched a fellow Zookeeper nurse an abandoned baby bird back to health and then teach it to fly. I watched a tiny, frightened hairball of a kitten grow into a mischievous little creature who made us laugh, all the while being entertained by wily ferrets. If I sound nostalgic it's because I am. I'm also a little sad. Soon after I got married this Zoo that had been open for years shut down for good. I so much wanted to bring my kids to visit the place that raised me, to show them that so much of what I am happened right here, in this sacred place. I've thought about accepting my lot and contending with city life, but I really don't feel like I'm cut out for it. My hands were made for milking cows, for tossing bird feed, for shelling 30 lbs of peas.

Maybe I'm a romantic. Maybe it's okay to be a romantic. I want to have higher aspirations for myself. I am reminded of Belle emphatically singing "I want more than this Provincial life" as she hugs a book and hurries through the town, on her way home to her father. Are my goals a little lofty? Perhaps. But definitely attainable in this lifetime. Right now, the most I can do is to at the very least bring the farm to me in whatever way I can. By encouraging my daughters to help out around the house and to see their place in it, to plant our own fruits and vegetables (eventually), to fend for ourselves, basically. But more importantly: to understand the value of hard work, to see ourselves as stewards of the Earth, to treat everything with care and to wholly appreciate the wold around us for the wonder it is.

At one point in my life, this was merely an ideal. But now, I'm actually witnessing it happening. My daughters help with household chores with the attitude that my home is their home as well. They wash dishes because they want clean dishes, the mop the floor because they want a clean floor. They clean up their room and play room because they enjoy having a cleaner space. They take turns cooking dinner, they make their own lunches and help each other do various tasks. They seem to be maturing and growing more and more responsible. Then again, I do know that things may change. Hopefully, I will be what they need in a parent and they will change for the better.

They have been begging me and their father for a pet. I so very much want to get us one, but there are obvious (and not so obvious) concerns: Who is really going to be taking care of it? Do we have room? Which type of pet would suit us best? We frequently take long road trips to NY. Will a pet be able to travel with us? If not, will we be able to ask someone to care for it while we're gone? Where in our house would it stay? Is our home set up to accommodate an animal? A pet becomes like a family member. Its needs must be met before your own, even when it grows. It cannot simply be abandoned if we decide one day "it's not working out". I am very disturbed by people who have no qualms in treating animals as though they were inanimate objects, passing them around as though they had no feelings about the matter. Changing homes can cause an animal to become disoriented, depressed, even sick. Adopting n animal is no small thing and all options must be weighed carefully, which is why we haven't taken one on yet.

Right now, it's 2:00 AM and I'm struggling with how to best sum up my thoughts. I suppose there is a part of me that thinks to a large degree that maybe my original idea needs some revision. Maybe I have evolved to the point where I need to really take stock of what I am doing and redefine what it is I'm doing. I never intended to turn this into a job, or something by which to earn a living. I told myself I wouldn't seek anything out, but would also not reject opportunities out of hand if they were offered. Still, I have been offered quite a number of positions, but have actually rejected most. I am first and foremost a homeschool Mom. Yes, I love taking pictures and yes I love making delicious food and yes I like making said food look beautiful. But I couldn't possibly do it full time and lose all have built in the meantime.

So this is me. Homeschool Mommy. Sometimes I cook epic, multi-course, beautifully plated meals. Most of these are on Shabbos, when I can't even take any pictures! Sometimes I make rice out of a box and call it a day. Sometimes I fail miserably and I'm so distraught it takes me days to get back into it. Sometimes I fail and I resume right away. I mean, with cooking I don't really have much of a choice. I have mouths to feed. At times, I would so much love to be cooking steak and huge roasts and whole ducks and good, fresh fish... But here's my confession: I can't afford it. And over the past year, ever since moving into out tiny house, we could afford less and less. As a foodie, this is not an easy position to be in, but sadly, there is not much I can do. I do acknowledge that it's pretty great that we eat less meat by necessity, but during the week we never really ate that much meat to begin with.

Anyhow, aside from cooking, sometimes I take pictures. When the lighting is good, or when I feel compelled to take a picture and have to make use of indoor lighting (pet peeve). Oh, and how I could style food if I had the money! All the pieces I could invest in to make an image pop with color and dimension! Flowers, cloths and linens, wooden utensils, dainty silver spoons... But again, out of necessity I have grown to appreciate minimalism. The real minimalism, not the corporate-driven kind. The kind where I am forced to make do with less and less and do it gracefully, methodically, carefully so nothing is wasted or excess, not because I actually have the luxury (read: money) to choose to be minimalistic when it suits me, when it's trendy, but because I have accepted my lot in life. This is where I am right now and I intend to make it beautiful.

Ok, so I'm not really quitting. Somewhere, not even so deep inside, the Chef is still there. There are ideas floating around looking for an outlet. Ideas for dishes, for plating, for techniques and I'm super excited to show them to you! That is...when the time is right and I feel less the call of duty. I will pull them out every now and then to remind myself what I know I'm capable of, but it'll probably never be something I can say is my "profession" and I think I'm thoroughly okay with that. I would like to dip my toe into bread-making, though. Maybe one day soon I will surprise even myself. Maybe I will master something I wouldn't even believe myself! Until then, I will continue to document my life in pictures and hope that one day I can stand back and view it all and be proud of what I've done. Maybe I'll view it all from my farmhouse door, scanning the horizon for my children due for dinnertime. A light buzz on the wind, the air smelling of warmth and maplewood.

Hey, a woman can dream, right?