As a kid, I never truly appreciated all the wholesome things my mother did. She grew vegetables and harvested wild chokecherries, grapes, and elderberries. She spent hours making jars of pickles and jam, syrup and mint jelly.
I thought, "So what?"
I also remember a time when my father must have despaired of me. I was fifteen, and it was a sunny summer day. I was in the living room watching "The Young And The Restless".
"Why don't you go outside and enjoy the day?" he argued.
"It's boring out there," I complained, "What am I supposed to do?"
"Go for a walk in the field."
I sighed loudly and rolled my eyes, "Oh yeah, that sounds exciting."
While this attitude surely didn't typify my entire childhood, I'm sure at that moment my worried Dad must have been thinking 'what have we done wrong?'.
Now, years later, there is hardly anything I enjoy more than a good old-fashioned, rubber-boot-clad walk through the tall grass. And in this age of mass-production and degraded food quality, I have nothing but enthusiasm for the idea of home-produced food. I'm turning now to the wisdom of my mother to help me reclaim the lost arts of self-sustainability.
We all go through phases of waxing and waning interest and enthusiasm. We all have wild inconsistencies and areas where we stumble repeatedly.
I use all-natural toothpaste but sleep with the air-conditioner on.
In attempting to change our lives for the better, we're bound to have moments of hypocrisy. None of us are perfect.
Should we allow this fact to dissuade us from making the attempt? Should we despair when others don't seem to share our excitement? Should we write them off for good?
Or can we relax and hope for the subtle shifts to take place, not only in them, but in us?
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