beginning

a self-portrait wherein i've seemingly mastered the farm-lady stance, aging me beyond my years. pretending, perhaps, that am already a seasoned field woman, looking across her gardens with a well-earned sigh of happiness, shoulders rounded by thousands of hours bent over plants and frying pans, a worn wardrobe accented by tattered hat and work-socks full of burrs, weathered fingers and sweat on the brow. alas, am just a girl stepping away from her computer briefly to survey the upcoming yard-work that will slowly, someday, make me the gentlewoman i aspire to be...

of special note: thistles and bindweed. the internet tells me the best way to rid your yard of bindweed is... to move. ha! this should be fun - it's eagerly taken over all of the overgrown gardens and apparently the seed is viable for 20 years! tilling is a reported death-sentence and if you want to stay organic (yes), the best way to beat it is militant, constant weeding so... *rubs garden-gloves together* IT'S ON.

also, behold, a fire-pit!