The Simple Frugal Life
Without Prejudice
In this hustle and hurry world it's easy to lose sight of who you are and what you want. I crave the Simple Frugal Life. A life lived on a small piece of land with a simple house and garden. The garden would be full of sweet smelling flowers and climbers. A vegie patch chock full of crisp vegetables, planted in rich chocolate coloured earth. Carrots that snap when you bend them.
There will be chickens scratching in the dirt and clucking, laying eggs in hidden places that delight as you find them. Hidden treasure still warm that only need a quick wash to make them pristine.
An old farmhouse made from tumbled bricks that has a bull nose verandah out the front and all sides. Wet weather playing areas for the kids. Where old faded couches and potted plants vie for space. The drop sided table out the front has drawers in it with Derwent pencils and fat colouring books.
Several cats will lie lazily in the garden, wild bees buzzing around their heads partaking of the flower stamens with ancient art. An old brick chimney in the front room hides their hive.
On a warm day, the Daphne, Wisteria and Jasmine will fill the air with a heady fragrance. The windows open on warm days allowing the heady fragrances of the flowers and warm air to fill the rooms.
A big country style kitchen with flagged floors of cool slate that cool bare feet on hot days. And cats and dogs will stretch out on the cool floors, sleeping and dreaming. A Belfast double sink in cream porcelain will hide the dishes until they are ready to be done. Washed with Janitor and scrubbed with Juf so that it smells like eucalyptus and lemons.
Lots of granite work space decorated with chrome bowls of brown eggs and fresh apples and lemons.
A lace cake cover covers the butter and there is a clear glass water container with strawberries, water melon and orange slices floating in it.
In the middle of the room is a scrubbed timber table surrounded by unmatched timber chairs, time worn grooves in them that exactly fit the bum and no splinters. The timber glowing with warmth in a honey like colour of Estapol and wear.
Out on the back patio hang fly strips catching the unwary on its tarry surface. The patio floored with old bricks worn smooth with time. And lined with terracotta pots of Basil, Rosemary, Thyme and Chives that only need a quick snip with the old black handled scissors rescued from the sewing basket.
