I assure you medication, subscription or otherwise, is not the cause.  It’s not insanity either.  Fire ants, wind storms, periodic droughts, phantom herbivores, murdering raccoons, and you damn eternally invading poison ivy, I am laughing at all of you now!

Why? Two simple reasons: The first is I’m back from ten loud days in London, so it is very obvious that, I am high on home!  As a bonus, even after my neglect in the garden there is still an endless supply of okra, zucchini, yellow squash, peppers of several varieties, honeydew, and watermelon, sweet potatoes on the way.  I honestly never expected this.  All the work early on and all the lost battles along the way, but wow, finally something way easier than I expected.

Determination is a very strange thing, and not at all what I thought it was.  It is more a mood, driven by irrationality and circumstance.  Some things are so much easier than expected, and then there are of course those other things that are so much harder.  Determination is entirely relative and completely unreliable.

And that constantly raises new challenges, like what to do with prolific success?  The freezers are full, I don’t have enough time or space to deal with the abundance, and now I must divide my time further by choosing between preserving the harvest, preparing the fall planting, and somehow squeezing in hours for my actual paying jobs.

If I didn’t like those paying jobs I’d surely quit them, but I do, so running the numbers to define my success in order to determine how I must spend my hours doesn’t really matter to me.  I suppose it should, but the truth is it just doesn’t.  So, I find I am stretched in a way that an ambitious (but comically underpaid) CEO is stretched, which by the very definition of the simple life and my own personal version of determination, I cannot allow.

All this time I thought it was the expectations of the culture, the society, the peer groups that were pushing me, like all of us, to work more than we should. I now realize I push myself just as hard, only not in the same directions as they do, and not with the same goals or set of priorities.  Interesting.

We are all creatures of comfort to varying degrees, but because of my comparatively vagabond lifestyle I thought I was less-so than most.  But as I drove home from the airport and saw the cement give way to grass and the buildings replaced by trees, and the noise and chaos disappearing, and I then spotted a lone coyote lingering at the wood’s edge and a succession of deer, I recognized my comfort in the way the happy city dweller sinks into her easy chair after a day at the office and grabs the remote.  To each her own.

Our definition of comfort, like our definitions of success, and ambition, and determination surely vary quite a lot, but the drives underlying them are universal.  I learned that in London.  From a couple teachers who didn’t even mean to teach me that, exactly.

That reminds me of the two most satisfying things I’ve ever felt about creating a home, no matter where it is: When you get to leave it, and then you get to come back.

All in life and comfort and happiness is a lot like this damn zucchini actually, you can only consume so much of it at once, and there’s no good way to preserve it in the condition it was meant to be appreciated.  If only there were some good way to freeze, bottle, or can, these moments called bliss.