with the flip of a switch

Sometimes I feel impossibly overwhelmed by all that must be done to develop our small farm, and also to make our cabin more hospitable. I won't put that ever-changing, ever-growing list here, because I'm trying to focus on what we've done already, which is substantial. 

When we moved in, six months ago, this place had no electricity, no insulation, no refrigeration, and no hot water. It was impossibly dusty and dirty. The propane line was sketchy, so even after Jeremy got the on-demand water heater working, we didn't often have hot water, and we'd go stretches of hours or days without being able to cook anything indoors. 

Sometimes I've wondered if we can survive here. My parents talk about this place like it's a temporary sacrifice so we can save money and move into a "normal" house. I've been trying to drop hints that we hope to live here for many years, and that's why we're working so hard to make it manageable.

We have a refrigerator now (remember when I just couldn't take the cooler anymore?). We have insulation, made from recycled blue jeans, which will soon be plastered so we'll have "real" walls. And as of Sunday, we have solar power.

When I've mentioned getting solar panels, people who don't live here are generally skeptical. Because I live in Northern California, they believe that most of our days must be foggy or overcast, if not outright rainy. But this is inland Mendocino, not Humboldt. Most of our days are sunny, and solar power is going to work just fine.

With the solar we can run lights, charge our laptop, and use low-power appliances without having to use the generator. On overcast days when the battery runs dry, we can charge the system using the generator.

Our friend Alex installed the solar on Sunday. Before he left, he flipped on our lamps to show us that the batteries were already charged. It was the first time I've seen light in our cabin without having a screaming monster sucking up petroleum on the back deck. It was amazing. I almost cried.

Maybe we should all be so easily impressed. 

We couldn't have done any of this by ourselves. Most of what we've done to clean up this place and make it sustainable has come about through the support of our friends, and sometimes outright gifts. It makes me wonder, what am I giving? How am I being generous to others, and helping others to fulfill their dreams, and letting them know that I deeply respect and value them?

Am I letting our friends know how completely HOME they have made this place for me?

My thoughts circle around this mantra: What can I give...?

This is a better thing to be thinking than, “Why isn't the effing hot water working again?”

Chicken Tender is officially solar-powered. Good morning.