I blame my addiction to heels on my mother. Growing up, I would dig through her closet picking and choosing from the fashion-forward, often fluorescent, heels of the 1980s. I loved to play dress-up. In fact, the two things I loved most as a child were dress-up days and visits to my grandparent’s farm in northern Minnesota. Funny isn’t it, how life often comes full circle…. But back to the heels.
Anyone who knows me intimately now knows I still love to dress up. Which is partly the reason my closet is lined with heels. There are my favorites on the vintage shelf, always glamorous no matter how worn. My mustard-yellow strappy Alfanis who always tempt me too early in spring. The classic and true to form three-inch black heels. The sumptuous and dangerous four inch red suede Michael Perry’s (no, really, I almost broke an ankle). The flirty black and white checkered Sacha London’s with a fabric flower button decorating the toe. The Italian stilettos I bought in Rome on a backpacking trip even though I couldn’t afford transportation back to my hostel. The Jeffrey Campbell platform-wedges I wear as an everyday shoe like another woman might wear Danskos. The Spanish stiletto boots I bought in Madrid…attitude with a sense of humor which can double, in a time of need, as self defense (multi-purpose purchase!). My four and a half inch silky champagne BCBG MaxAzaria wedding heels which are slightly scarred from the dance floor. And finally, an assortment of wedges, boots, and sandals (all heeled) take up the bottom shelf, even a crafty pair of cobbler-made Swedish clogs that have enough of a heel for me to feel at home. Not quite Carrie Bradshaw’s closet but not bad for a girl who buys almost everything second-hand or on sale. (Except, of course, for those few times in-between break-ups or backpacking where a girl just can’t help herself and needs a little heel therapy.)
But all of this, was my -old- closet. Luxuries, like a closet, are not included in my present-tense and so most of my heels, who have stomped with me through my twenties, are now packed away in storage. The old me– the high-heeled actress who can’t keep house plants alive–spent the last ten years in cities like Minneapolis, London, and Seattle pursuing performance. Much of that time was spent inside universities, theatres, greenrooms, commercial auditions, casting rooms, rejection rooms, rehearsal spaces or moving vans. And one thing is for certain; as a performing artist, you spend a great deal of time in the dark.
But then, there has always been this other side of me. The barefoot side.
The barefoot side likes to eat raw from the garden, feet deep in soil, enjoying deliciously dirty arugula. My big barefoot personality picks berries to make homemade jam, bakes pies and cakes from scratch using the tried and true recipe box passed down from my grandmother’s farm kitchen. The barefoot girl in me is the young girl that used to take long walks around my grandparent’s farm at dusk, fly with my cousins from heavy ropes into piles of hay stacked high in the barn. The barefoot girl nestles her always cold toes into wool socks before bed and dreams about growing old while watching the moon swing quietly over bending fields…. The barefoot side also, unknowingly, married a wannabe-farmer.
To be fair; there were some clues.
To catch you up to speed, my husband, Jim, has been working with a small, organic, family-run Farm & Cidery (Finnriver Farm) for about two years. When the opportunity arose for us to move here full-time to live and work, we decided we could not pass it up, even though it has meant some difficult sacrifices. Nonetheless, we packed our bags, quit our city lives (and jobs) to re-locate to a rural agricultural town on the Olympic Peninsula, just a sigh away from the Olympic Mountains. We are working here as Farm Apprentices to learn how to farm in addition to working for the business-end of the operation. We’ve joined forces with a fierce team of bright, talented farmers and artisans who have enough masters degrees combined to make a really smart village. But it doesn’t matter how smart -or talented- you are out here if you can’t grow (or raise) food. Which is sort-of why we’re here when it comes right down to it.
To learn. To grow. To Eat.
And… to follow our dreams of living “the good life.” (The Nearings, well known American back-to-the-landers, wrote extensively about their experience living what they termed “the good life”.)
Many couples decide to get married and upgrade. We decided to get married and jump off a cliff, heel-less.There are some other reasons too, but I’m sure we’ll get to those over time.
So, having jumped, the only sane thing to do is to buy a pair of BOGS. Check.
BOGS are a must-have for any badass wannabe farm girl (or guy). They are agricultural boots; waterproof, warm, and high enough to step in a whole LOT of cow dung. Exciting! You can check them out here. Needless to say, they do not have a heel and in the next year I will learn to love them.
I am going to intimately get to know this new side of myself that’s emerging, the BOG-girl. It might not always be pretty, or easy but I will wrestle her out of me. And who knows, a new topographic resilience just might emerge.
We all shed certain parts of ourselves as we grow into new “shoes.” But how does one learn to be a farm-girl without ditching the attitude & sass of the high-heeled sidewalk stomping flirt? I’ve always been a fan of juxtaposition, as an artist and in my own life. I’ve never fit into one group, or category or identity. I love the city but I also love the country.
I’ve also always been game for adventure and new experiences. So here goes.
As I learn to live in this closet-less, heel-less, 12×12 cabin with my husband in our first year of marriage, I hope to log the information I’m learning and processing on this blog. Perhaps a kind of mini-handbook of how-to’s. For starters… how to be a fashionable farm girl. How to NOT get kicked off a farm when you have no idea what the hell you’re doing. How to be brave. How to make cheese (one of my dreams…this one might take a while). How to live without a bathroom. How to not cry. How to walk two acres to take a shower. How to not kill herb plants. How to not kill your husband in your first year of marriage. How to start a window-box from plastic water bottles. How to live with a little less space, a little less stuff and a little less impact.
Wish us luck!
above: jim thins greens. me in the orchard with a red star hen.
high heels to hay 