It smells like ashes in my house. It smells like embers and fire.
Heavy rain. Early morning. Mist.
Chores to do.
I walk up and down the slippery slope pushing the wheelbarrow. We have been away too much these last couple of months, it couldn´t be different but the fact remains… all of the firewood for the coming winter seasson is still located down by the lake, it´s raining hard, it´s getting wet, I have to move it.
The smell of wet grass. The smell of half rotten birch leaves. No mushrooms this year but it sure was a grand berry year.
Heavy rain on my waterproofs.
Heavy rain on my boots, on my cheeks.
The kale is doing fantastic. Lots of beans too.
It´s raining through the roof, the roof needs to be fixed, the temporary roof was only made to last for two years and this is the third year, we havn´t had the money and besides Jeppe is scared of heights.
Rumble of the wood stove.
This hot cofee.
The world is far away today, today I am immersed in something else, something other that refugees walking through Europe as the facists walk too, tramp of the boots, roar of the people, war is getting closer, closer still.
I am afraid… but also I feel prepared, much more prepared than I did four years ago.
I feel stronger. Experienced. This golden nest, this phoenix fire, this heavy rain, the roar of the wind.
I´m a prepper. But I share.
(now back to work)