Just Another Old Soul

Just Another Old Soul

Well over five years ago, I penned this post about the importance of tradition and days-gone-by. I want to point it out for two reasons: 1) so you know this Little House obsession I’ve developed is not out of nowhere, and 2) to remind myself I’ve come a long way since my early days of blogging.

I’ve often set goals for myself of learning how to do those skills – canning, gardening, sewing, etc. I seem to always stop short of following through, though. Some of the tasks involved flat out scare me, and I know I’m destined to fail.

And yes, I know that’s a terrible mindset to have.

I believe I’m an old soul of sorts. Or at least I was meant to be, if that makes sense.

Recently, the wind in my sails has picked up a bit. I’ve been knitting up a storm (random trivia fact: before this blog existed, I had a blog about knitting.), I ordered a book on canning for beginners, and I’m going to try my hand at a few other traditional skills as well.

From as early as I can remember (we’re talking beyond 30 years ago now), I’ve had this “feeling” – I can’t aptly describe it – that I was not born for life in the concrete jungle. Big city living is not where I’m supposed to remain. I hate bugs, but I need to be where they are. It’s a sick dichotomy, really. I don’t want them in my space, but I need to be in theirs.

I’ve been praying about it. Are we supposed to stay here? Go somewhere? And I got an itch to move.

Lately, that itch has grown more and more intense. I need to get out of the city. I need to spread my wings in the mountains. Or in a forest. Definitely somewhere other than this apartment building.

As content as I am to live here and as much as this place and its people mean to our family, I have a growing sense it isn’t our long-term assignment.

Two years ago, one year ago even, I would have told you I don’t see us leaving here – maybe ever. Our daughter, Harlynn, is buried here. Our roots run deep. We have a large framily (friends who have become like family) I would be devastated to leave behind.

Yet the stirring grows.

It seems strange, even to me, a person who’s living depends on a computer and the advances of technology yearns so desperately to move further from the civilization it supports. But that’s my case.

I’m no hippie and I’m no recluse. I simply have a strong urge to things the way they were done for generations before us, and to know how to do them well. It’s one thing for me to be able to drive a car and get my family safely from one point to the next. That’s a really big thing, actually, because every day I’m out among people who can’t seem to do that safely. (PUT YOUR PHONES DOWN! I SEE YOU!)

It’s quite another, though, to be able to teach my children, and maybe one day some grandchildren, how to do things from start to finish, without a machine or possibly even a power outlet to depend on. (And this is saying a lot. Just yesterday I had to change the battery in one of our smoke detectors, as it started chirping right at the beginning of nap time. Once I had the battery replaced, I accidentally pushed the “test” button, which tests ALL OF THE SMOKE DETECTORS AT THE SAME TIME. During the children’s nap time. Because #expert.)

I’ll start with canning, and pray I don’t give my family food poisoning. I also won’t give up if I fail the first time. I’m going to learn to do it, and I’m going to learn to do it right. From there I’ll move on to other things…who knows what the achievement will be.

For now, though, I’ve caught the pioneer-spirit fever I believe has been suppressed within for nearly my entire life.

And if you need me – I’ll be out there. Somewhere.