Of course the first year is the hardest; how could it not be?! Everything is to be discovered, comprehended, revealed. Everything is to be done, also: no plumbing, no wiring, no windproof, waterproof or animal-proof shelter. Just our tent. The almost-unbearable cold melding too quickly into actually-unbearable heat. The cheesy cliché of the rollercoaster is rather apt. A rollercoaster with no seatbelts, perhaps!
Then all of a sudden we have calm and riches. Figs for breakfast! Who could afford such a thing, where I grew up?! And how could they taste as good as these, plucked sticky-fingered and dripping fig-milk all over. Sliced open to expose such perfect pink design, a work of art in every respect: the form, the layers of bright, living colours. A Divine Gift, full of vital promise, pleasure and nutrition. Priceless!
There seemed to be little to eat... and then suddenly there was a glut. I love how this homesteading life's erratic rhythms become more symbiotic, with our loving care, our presence, prayerfulness and curation. It is such blessed work.
The first room of our new cottage is filling wirh our things... From one makeshift kitchen to another we go; carting crates of herbs, spices, teas, plates, cups, pans to a partially organised new room, the chimney having successfully been dismantled (bravo, dearest 
There is time before violent weather might shake what stability we're creating. If the terrible heat abates just a bit more, we can start taking tiles off the main roof of the cottage, replace some planks, support a beam or two (or three) and then get started decorating, as it were. It is not a huge roof, and there are a few tiles laying in a pile, waiting to replace the broken ones.
It's exciting to have the imminent prospect of pulling away the layers of the cottage, and getting to make it all new. Oh, the feeling of it not being impossibly far away, our dream bedroom - or, a bedroom!! It has been a while.
