Ode to a walk-in pantry

picture by la fattina
I love my pantry. When we built this house I knew it would need a big pantry. Not just because we have four growing children - though that is reason enough. I crave nourishment, and the pantry in our home reflects that. Like keeping the pantry stocked with wholesome food somehow feeds my family’s spiritual well-being.

Sometimes I stop at my open pantry door and sigh with affection. Right now, the shelves are neatly organised and well-stocked with grains and sugars, pulses and nuts. And, in anticipation of the Christmas season, there is homemade mulberry wine and ginger beer in various stages of maturation. This pantry is the heart of our home and it is my domain.

I buy convenience foods like breakfast cereals and crackers, and perishables such as milk and bread at our local supermarket but all the basics are acquired, in bulk, through informal co-operative buying schemes run by people in my network. I actually like gathering for the delivery and sorting of our co-operative goods. It is a social ritual that far surpasses pushing a bockety trolley through aisles and aisles of un-necessary paper and plastic packaging.

I actually like not being inundated with choice. Impulse buying is almost impossible and it is easier to put our dollars into ethical food industries. In our fruit and vegetable co-op we order once a fortnight, and seasonally in the case of dry goods and grocery items. Buying this way means food is usually fresher than what’s available at our local supermarket. It is also generally less packaged, which means less paper and plastic in my wheelie bin destined for land fill.
Soon I hope to be feeding our family more from the garden, harvesting and preserving fruits and vegetables and eventually filling these pantry shelves with the stuff that is growing in our own garden. We’re already part way there and I’m learning a lot as I go (read: I’ve had a lot of stuff-ups so far). I’m enjoying the process, even if we aren’t yet getting to eat very much of what we grow just yet.
Every mother, or cook, deserves a walk-in pantry. It is the heart of our home and sometimes a place of escape. Where else is it possible to hide from the children, in broad daylight, while nibbling contraband chips or chocolate?

October 29th, 2008 - Posted in gratitude, consumerism, community, sustainability | | 2 Comments

Domestic Haiku #4

babydoll belly

under her dress

just like mama’s

October 18th, 2008 - Posted in haiku | | 0 Comments

Domestic Haiku #3

dishmop microphone
the audience applauds
from her highchair

October 11th, 2008 - Posted in haiku | | 0 Comments

Vasectomy

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picture by thebluedino

Infertility arrived suddenly.

Not that permanent contraception went un-discussed. We spent two years revisiting the topic. But we still didn’t do anything about it. There seemed no reason to rush.

Then a month of panic and uncertainty turned our family upside down. What if we were pregnant? Our kids already share bedrooms - we hadn’t ever anticipated a household with five children. To say we were underwhelmed at the prospect of another baby is putting it mildly. We thought we were done. We were already anticipating the next, hopefully less intense and more relaxed, stage of parenthood. Could we cope with another baby? Of course we could. But still… it was a gut-wrenching month coming to terms with the potential changes ahead. And then, just as we started to warm to the idea of nurturing another new life, I bled - with a mixture of relief and regret.

Before my period ended, my husband underwent surgery to convert our ‘thought we were done’ into ‘decided we were done’ and that was the end of that. He healed. Life went on. We told ourselves how grateful we are for our beautiful family and we regarded the children with a renewed sense of awe and reverence.

I’ve been privileged to have abundantly healthy pregnancies and to welcome each baby lovingly and safely into the world. And despite my initially low expectations, childbirth ushered a new confidence, a womanliness, into my life. It redefined me. Each and every time. And because my husband was present and actively involved in the birth and early parenting process, our relationship was also transformed. We have never looked back.

Work puts me constantly among pregnant women and new mothers, midwives and doulas. Our conversations are in eternal orbit with pregnancy, birth, babies, motherhood. In my head, I am certain that my family is complete but in my body there are still moments when I yearn to bear a baby, to feel it, all again - against all reason and no matter what the consequences. It isn’t rational. Or at least, I acknowledge that the rationale is bigger than me and has a history as long as the mitochondrial DNA.

It is all still so recent. Both my husband and I grieve the sudden and somewhat dramatic end of our childbearing years. There are many rituals and celebrations pertaining to the conception and birth of a child, but there are no real rites of passage declaring we’ve had all our babies or our family is complete. How can we acknowledge the grief that we both feel at being rendered infertile as a couple? I always knew there would be moments of sadness but I never expected to feel it with such intensity. Afterall, haven’t we done the responsible thing?

September 18th, 2008 - Posted in personal growth, gratitude, partnership, birth, grief | | 7 Comments