Apparently, you can’t live without a kitchen. Well, not for very long anyway and certainly not for the two or so months we’re planning. We know this because a great many people, when told of the expected time frame of our latest project, tell us so. Well, usually they gasp a little first. Admittedly, these are the same folk who blanched at the bedroom in the corner of the living room, so I’m guessing their lives are a little more predictable and a little less chaotic than those at Union Homestead.
But these decrees have led to many lively discussions around the temporarily relocated dining table, because “can’t” is such a funny word. Like “need”, it’s meaning has been blurred over time so now a television set is a “need” and anything slightly out of the ordinary or not immediately achievable “can’t be done”. Not that we’re suggesting that anything and everything is possible; we all know from experience that simply isn’t so. The five year old Farmer definitely couldn’t “jump and miss a bar” of the school climbing frame despite his mother’s assurance to the contrary. The following six weeks his arm spent in plaster served as an excellent maternal reminder that sometimes can’t is definitely can’t, no matter how good the cheer-leading. You also can’t change the weather, run a petrol engine on diesel, make an omelette without eggs, or have a meaningful conversation with The Bean Counter during ESPN FC. It’s impossible! But with a couple of tweaks, a review of expectations, and some clever adaptations most things can be done. Just not the petrol/diesel thing; that one’s a straight, flat, not negotiable “no way”.
So, having been visited by Daryl d’Plumber on what must have been one of the coldest days this winter, we have been without running water in the room formally known as the kitchen for nearly a week. The food prep area has now moved two metres and one room to a corner of the living room and the laundry, another five or so paces south, now doubles as the scullery. We’ve kept the oven hooked up for now but no doubt the day will come when the BBQ, wood burner and, when our need for cake can no longer be ignored, lovely neighbours will be asked to step into the breach. We’re pretty sure we’ll survive whichever room we utilise to prepare our sustenance.
The goats will continue to incubate in the winter sun,
Kiki, despite being the littlest in the flock, will remain keyholder of the much coveted door-side nesting box,
The garden clock will progress, perpetually,
and we Homesteaders will continue to dream, scheme, succeed and fail, react and adapt.
Apparently, Charles Darwin never did say:
but that isn’t important. What is is the warm glow and feeling of strength these words give us whenever we are told something we are planning can’t be done.
So, will the Homestead be hosting a multi course, sit down, pull-out-all-the-stops dinner for twenty in the next couple of months? It’s unlikely. But if you’re okay with pot luck and lively conversation around the woodburner come on over. Maybe you could bring dessert.