Chores

It’s funny how the things we loathe become the things we crave, the things that ground us.

Growing up, we had very little for a long time. My mother jokes about how she went from 2 kids to 6 kids over the course of a week and in the middle of an epic blizzard. While its true and its funny to say now, the sacrifices my family made to raise myself and my 9 siblings, plus all the extras always around (my parents probably have more than 30 people that consider them their parents in some capacity at this point), were real and difficult.

Because there were so many of us, we had chores. There were too many of us for all of the household needs to be done by just one or two people. We had animals that need to be fed, stalls to be cleaned, small children that needed tending (there is a 20 year age gap between the youngest and oldest sibling), and of course, food to be cooked.

My chores were heavily focused on animals and cooking. Initially in the kitchen, I had no idea what I was doing. I couldn’t have been more than 11 or 12 when my father started teaching me the basics, like how much a “pat of butter” is or how to manage time so that all dishes in the meal were all still hot and ready to be served when serving time came. My mother was the primary breadwinner after my father had some health issues, so he was home and he taught me these things when he was able. I cherish those moment, and for some unknown reason, the butter thing stuck with me.

When dad was feeling poorly, cooking not only lunch for 12 people, but dinner as well, quickly became my responsibility. I was not in love with this idea. It was a chore and it was difficult. As an adult I know many people who cannot cook for 2 or 3 people, let alone a minimum of 12 (but often closer to 20 people). But now it was up to me, a 12 year old, to do it. People needed to eat, whether I liked cooking or not and my age mattered not.

So I learned. I watched cooking shows like it was my job. I read cook books for enjoyment and as the internet became more full, I scoured it for new recipes. My family gave me a lot of free rein in the kitchen and so I was able to experiment and learn. Cooking on a budget can be a feat itself, but that does not mean that you can’t cook piles of delicious food. It just means you have to be more careful, cognizant and respectful of the nourishment that you have. So I was.

Once I started honing my cooking skills, people liked what I was making. My friends sat on the kitchen counters and we would listen to my ipod docked beside the stove, pumping out rap and Taylor Swift, laughing like teenagers do and I would make massive piles of cookies, cakes, crab rangoons, pasta or whatever struck me and we had the ingredients for. Cooking became a time of fellowship, sharing and feeding people helped heal my soul from all of my teenage woes.

Many of my friends had less than we did. My parents had an “open door policy” as they called it. If you needed a safe place, shelter, food, ect., you could just show up. Stay for however long you needed. You would be taken care of, fed, you would be warm and there would always be laughs to be had. But you would also have to help with chores.

My friends helped take the trash out, helped me feed animals and one poor soul got stuck in the back of a horse trailer with my mother and I (in a blizzard, of course), helping a sheep give birth to twins.

While I am sure that these tasks may have not turned into core bits of self like cooking has for me, having the willingness to help others surely has been imparted on many of these people.

Today, cooking is a part of my self. Growing my own food and tending to animals has become a portion of my being. And while I don’t adore cleaning out stalls or hauling water over the frozen Maine tundra, this morning I found some peace as the rain lightly pattered on the mental roof of the barn. I found happiness in the abundance of eggs my chickens had laid and joy in the delicate array of colors. I laughed when I plucked duck eggs from random spots in the duck yard and I smiled when i found a small nest one of the hens had safely tucked her eggs in. Maintaining a fire in the wood stove gave me warmth and is allowing me to hold off a little bit longer from turning on the damn furnace.

This morning my chores, while time consuming and redundant, gave me a sense of tranquility and harmony in my life that is incomparable. Knowing that even if I just did those things today (and continue to completely neglect the dishes), I did something that is sustainable and good, brings a bliss that is simple and beautiful.