Thursday, 30 April 2009

Abandoned books, green window-sills and dreams of fertiliser.

My husband and I have a plan.

Sometime in the next year or so, we want to move out of this cosy little appartment and hopefully onto a property in the countryside around Vejle - just south of here and closer to my husband's workplace.

The idea is going to be that while he goes about his archaeologist shenanigans, I will focus on trying to make us at least semi self-sufficent through maintaining a kitchen garden, maybe a small brood of chickens and anything else that crops up around the house. Now some might see this as being a bit old-fashioned, the woman at home while the man brings home the bacon. But we dont see it that way. We see it as a fair balance of the workload of our combined lives together. The husband has actually just said that he would love it to be the other way around, so that he could be at home pottering in the garden. But at the end of the day my grasp of field archaeology is pretty weak so I dont think his workplace would let us swap. :P

I look forward to it. So much so that I have actually lately been feeling that my life is a little on hold untill the first moment I dig into the soil on our own little piece of the world. I've been ploughing the internet for sites on self-sufficiency, organic fruit and vegetable gardening, raising chickens, composting, basic capentry techniques and anything else we might need to know to get the rest of our lives underway. I have even started trying to maintain a little windowsill garden here in the flat, just to get into the swing of things.


The other day the husband placed an order through amazon for "The New Complete Book Of Self-Sufficiency: The Classic Guide for Realists and Dreamers" by John Seymour, and it got me to thinking about all the groovy books I left behind in Australia on just this topic.

I have wanted to live a semi self-sufficient lifestyle since I was in my late teens. When I turned 18 and inherited a sum of money, I even seriously looked into buying a share on a commune outside of Nimbin, on the far north coast of New South Wales, just to try and live that dream. Unfortunately, the banks (whom I still needed because my "sum of money" was not quite enough) didn't see my dream as being very profitable to them so they denied my loans over and over again.

Now I really wish that I had kept all those great books I had on permaculture and gardening and generally being a green-thumbed hippie. I cant for the life of me think why I didn't bring them either. I knew from very early on in my relationship with my husband that he had similar dreams, so there was always the possibility that we would end up pursuing them. The only reasons I can think of for my stupidity are:

A) They were all pretty big books, and therefore fairly heavy, so the added cost of shipping them was something we didn't really need.

B) Most of them were based on Australian and southern hemisphere climates, so I somehow didn't think they would be useful in Denmark.

C) I'm a right, royal nincompoop.

I'm going for the C option right now, kicking myself over and over for not having them here next to me to look longingly at while we bide our time before making it all a reality.

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