Scrappy

Dawn this day was ushered in by a most clamorous thunderstorm will full accompaniment of rain. I was pleased to see the rain but my pleasure for my garden slightly soured after a trip to the gas station.

"May I have fifteen dollars of gas on pump number four?" I ask, pulling a twenty from my pocketbook.

"Pump four?" the attendant asks. I nod and half turn, pointing out the window at my car.

"Yes sir, the silver Saturn." I said with a smile. I love my Orchid. She's a tough old gal, seen many miles between Illinois, Kentucky and Tennessee. She's seen me through Knoxville down toward Asheville, to Atlanta and back through Chattanooga. So imagine my shock and no small amount of anger when the man behind me in line chimes in.

"That silver Saturn was your first mistake, sweetheart."

Bristling hotly I marched out of the Marathon, barely smoldering a look that could curdle milk. No, Orchid is hardly new. She is a 1997, seen hard use but still gives it her all on every trip to work, grocery store, home town or festival. She's not my baby, she is my partner. She has never been nor never will be a mistake.

Yes, my car is scrappy. She's seen her youth come and go, is a little duller around the edges of her silver coat and could use some work. However this car has seen me safely to work and back from the Peach state. She has kept me dry in rainfall, warm in winter and cool in summer. She provides comfort and safety. In short, she is amazing and no one has the right to criticize her.

Here in the Heart of Home we thrive on scrape. Little ends of fabric are collected for future quilting projects, ever last bit of our dried herbs are packaged away for seasoning powder, jelly and pickle jars are washed and peeled of their labels to be reused for homemade spreads. We do with what we have, buying only when we truly must the majority of the time. We are putting aside money for a life not yet achieved but longed for. Not yet secured but sought after with a sweet desire. This is not a life of luxury. We do not sip 1888 Chardonnay from crystal goblets; most of the Clan is happy to nab a frosted mason jar from the deep freezer and pour themselves sweet tea. This is a life of many everyday pleasures cleverly quilted into the frame of work. We don't mind a little mud on our boots, a little pain in our step or the odd grey hair. it is all part of our journey toward our homestead. It isn't fancy, it isn't easy, it isn't fashionable. It is hard, rough, wearisome, wonderful, beautiful and enduring.

It is also scrappy and thus, it is the way this journey was meant to begin. We have no illusions of grandeur here. Only the simple knowledge that a beautiful life is one well worked. Cosmetic finery will ever pale before ethic and competence here.

Yes, scrappy will do fine.