little house

Our clothes drier kicked the bucket, bit the dust, and took itself for one last spin. I thought at the time that it was probably the last big difference between our life, and the pioneer life of the Ingalls family.

Of course, I’m exaggerating a little. We have electricity most of the time. And I get to wash my clothes more than twice a year or whatever because we do, in fact, have a washing machine. And a dishwasher. And a telephone. And this here computer.

But enough splitting hairs. It’s a rugged life, I tell you. We’ve got the animals to feed and care for, the yard and land to tend to, a garden to water and weed and plant with seed, and children to rear.

We also live in the middle of nowhere, with no visible signs of civilization, if you ignore the occasional “wagon” passing on The Mother Road or the almost constant rumble of trains passing by.

Hair-splitting, again.

More similarities between our family, and the family Ingalls? They had Jack, their beloved guard dog, and we have Max and Lucy. They raised chickens, we raise chickens. They sat in the evenings and listened to Pa's yarns, we dance in the evenings to Daddy's favorite music. It was a rare and special occasion for them to pack up and travel to town. Our weekly trip to the nearest Walmart is equally special.

I hang my laundry out to dry, feed the chickens, keep the children in constant sight, respond to the dogs’ every whine and howl, pick peas from the garden and more and feel just like Ma, working hard all day. .

There are brave moments, and every day seems to be hard work just to survive.

And then the water stopped. In our house. In the pipes in the yard. Nothing but air.

More than 24 hours (and a few gallons of cough-syrup tainted water) later, and we have water again. Rust-colored water, but water.

I love water.

And my good, loving, kind, hardworking little family.

little tip: don't store your water on a shelf that has a hidden spill of cough syrup from the previous residents. it doesn't have to be visible be flavorful.