We DID have to stay home.

A while back, I pondered "What if we had to stay home?" My thoughts elicited quite a few discussions, both virtually and personally. The recent snow storm that basically "closed" Dunwoody for a week reminded me once again how very much we are dependent upon mobility - across town/the country/the world via gas-hungry transportation, upwardly via financial American dream-weaving, and personally via I-hope-hope-hope-I-don't-slip-and-break-something.

Keeping power was a major blessing. Having unexpected time together as a family was, surprisingly, a treat. (Imagine that - my teens were quite pleasant and we enjoyed each other very much.)  And keeping work on schedule via the internet was pretty darned significant to the Knitternall family budget.

I want chickens. There. I said it again. (Hello, City Council?)

Farmers  feel a deep, abiding connection to land that is hard for city dwellers to  understand. My ancestors came to America from Ireland after their land let them down catastrophically, during the infamous potato famine of the late 1800's. Here, they couldn't afford to purchase new land, so sank their roots into shrimp fishing and subsistence vegetable gardens in small bungalows tucked into the outskirts of whatever city they could find work in.

I'm relocating my garden to the front yard ... maybe this year, it'll have enough sunlight to look this good.

That land memory calls to me constantly. It's why I want to dig in the dirt, raise food, have chickens, do things myself, and stay home.

I saw a photo in this Sunday's New York Times Magazine insert for some luxury property on the Hudson River "just 2 hours from New York City." That estate called to me, more because of its location on the river and beautiful grounds than for the rather ridiculous size of the house (8 bedrooms and 5 baths - yikes.)

We had to stay home last week.
What a rare gift.

North Georgia College sees its share of snow - yet another reason our son is glad he's heading "north" for college.