But I did at least think of Juniper:
Juniper, who did not think in terms of luxury and
handsome husbands, but who lived as if everything
in life–some evil-smelling ointment she was making,
and old man with the dropsy, a deer, a bit of Latin poetry,
the taste of butter, the color of the mead, the feel of wind
or rain or sun or tempest, the sound of thunder or the stab
of lightning–was a joyful and wonderful treat, a source
of amusement, of pleasure, of fascination. Juniper
had a secret, though not the sort you can easily tell, and
I wanted to be someone who shared that secret.
-Monica Furlong

Lovely, hmmmm? I am still living under the spell
of the little world Monica Furlong crafted in Wise Child,
tho’ it has been diluted this week with Real Life, but
is thankfully still flavoring it. I am really intrigued by the
idea of melding the sort of life expressed in Wise Child, the
sort of life I have always been drawn to, with the reality
of a modern life….I suppose it is what I have always
been doing. But the gift of time I have right now,
especially with summer nearly here (no more studies
for my son!) and my mom in a really good place in
mind and body (grateful huzzahs!) feels rich with the
possibility of exploring this more fully than I have
been able to up to now.

On our piece of earth, we have lived in many different
ways….from the goat-milking, market-gardening Tasha Tudor
days to the satellite tv and too much Trader Joes convenience
food days and everywhere in between. It will be interesting to
see what ends up a good balance for me in the months to
come, and I spend a little time each day observing and
pondering and planning the present path I am on-in between
watching rounds of the French Open, of course!

Here are a few more of the passages I marked
in my reading…

…it was broad daylight when I awoke. I jumped up at
once, and wrapping the back fur around me, I ran downstairs
in my bare feet. Already a fire was burning in the grate and
Ruby was purring in front of it. My breakfast was laid out on
the table, with a tiny pink winter flower in the middle of my
plate. It was very consoling, as real as a kiss.

I milked Daisy, who was lowing angrily, fed Tillie, ate
my porridge, and washed dish and pan in the careful way
Juniper had taught me. I swept the floor, built up the fire,
and settled to my writing. I felt very busy, very grown-up;
I was enjoying myself more than I knew.

and this….

The next day I decided that routine was the best
cure for terror and the supernatural. I got up early,
made porridge, fed Daisy and the chickens, turned some
drying plants, swept the living room, did some reading,
even learned some more English words. In the late
afternoon I went for a walk and came back with some
honeysuckle, which I put in a pitcher on the table.

I think you can see the direction of my thoughts
these days. And Juniper and Wise Child will be inspiring
(if rather idealistic) companions….tho’ I wonder how
Juniper would handle a broken washing machine in
a household of four in the sultry Springtime
we are having?