Where your eyes rest

One of the most immensely satisfying things about homesteading is the constant cycle of creation it offers. But the same can also be said of home remodeling, backyard landscaping, and other things which make where you live a better place. Except of course, that those projects generally require a significant outlay of cash, so they're done sparingly unless you're a lottery winner.

The thing that always amazes me is when I've completed some project -- from making bars of soap or a homemade pie all the way up to completing the back yard landscape or remodeling our kitchen is how much I look at what I've accomplished. Or rather, I realize how much I averted my gaze to something else back when it was un-lovely or not made by me.

I never realized, for instance, that before I remodeled my kitchen I not only avoided going in there as much as possible (if I had free time I would never find myself loitering in the kitchen, odd because I love to cook). Once it was completed, with colors more soothing to the eye and decor in harmony with the rest of the house, I found myself looking at it all the time...standing around in it...just letting my gaze fall on it when I was thinking about something else. It was a pleasing sight.

Before: #kitchensowhite

After: A lot easier on the eyes.

It's no different for small stuff. A beautiful crop of carrots will entice me outdoors to look at their green loveliness; I'll actually give myself time to sit among the raised beds and enjoy what's going on. Now that the backyard landscape is done I stare out the window a lot more than I used to. In summer, when the endless lawn that had been planted back there turned dry and ugly, I looked beyond the yard out to the mountains in the distance, subconsciously avoiding looking at the struggling grass. Now my focus is on the colors of the flagstone patio, or our large brick bed, or the salvia which is just starting to bloom. I still love our view, but now our close-up view is almost as good as our far-range one.

I guess it's human nature to rest our gaze on what is lovely and attractive, whether it's perfect bars of soap all in a row or something of architectural beauty. I believe we are hired wired for beauty -- to create it, gaze upon it, soak it in -- because even when we are not conscious of doing so, that is what we do. 

No matter where you live or whether you believe yourself to be a "creative" type of person, a part of you recognizes the lovely and the pleasing and responds to it. And with that being said, surely it makes sense that we would invest either money or sweat equity in making our surroundings, and all we see in our homes and yards as "gaze worthy" as possible. Just keeping America beautiful, right? So where do your eyes come to rest around your home and property when you're not paying attention?

Rainy Day Book: At Home, by Bill Bryson

After almost giving up this book during the first 50 pages, because the reading mainly consisted of wordy descriptions of the prehistoric dwellings of Skara Brae and the Crystal Palace of the 1800's, I persevered and am now really enjoying this chronicle of all things Home.

Basically, the book is a room-by-room history of how each room in our modern homes developed, along with lots of interesting factoids about life, diet and personal habits of people from the Middle Ages through the Industrial Revolution. 

I have learned that the word "cabinet" was originally a diminutive form of "cabin," as in "cabin-ette."  Once a piece of furniture to store valuables, it eventually referred to a place in larger houses and estates where the most private of private meetings were held. Eventually, the term actually began to refer to the people themselves in those meetings, which is why our high-ranking government members today are called the President's "cabinet."  

Here's another interesting fact:  In the Middle Ages, bread was primarily baked by professional bakers in villages, rather than in the home.  Around the 1500's, the bakers were accused of adding all sorts of ingredients to bread in order to stretch their genuine (and therefore more expensive) ingredients like flour.  The false ingredients were things like chalk powder, sawdust and bone-ashes.  Once this was reported and discovered, bread-making was more tightly regulated, with weights and ingredients being measured out carefully and records kept.  Since evaporation made loaves turn lighter, however, nervous bakers began adding an extra loaf to orders -- the "baker's dozen" -- so that if the loaves were light the extra one would make up for any loss and the regulators would suspect no attempt at foul play.

And one more:  The word "boudoir" literally means, "room for sulking."  So much for romantic intrigue.

Anyway, those are just two of the fascinating things I've learned from the book so far.  Since it's raining cats and dogs and the wind is howling right now, I am contenting myself with reading and making a winery friend's birthday cake for later today. So Bill Bryson, it's you and me today....at home.