Towels are always drying here.
A working historic farmhouse means the joy of cooking lots of meals. These meals must sustain at all times of day. Meals warm chilled bodies in winter when the work outside is tough. Meals replenish during lambing season, when shepherds stumble around in a sleepy daze. Meals cool and refresh after sweating out in the blazing sun of summer. Meals bring contentment when the harvest is put up, stored for winter. Meals bring sleep when there are worries, and meals bring energy when the work is stacked up. The preparation of food must roll along in a timely way and indeed, it is ongoing. The result is an endless cycle of dish towels drying on the rack. I gave up hanging them like I did when I lived in the city. In the city, my towel (singular) needing only some drying, only some days. Here, my towels (note plural!) are constantly in need of drying. There are warm vegetable soups to prepare, roasts to make, loaves of bread to knead, yogurt to warm, and a little something sweet for a treat to sneak in. There are things to fry, muffins to freeze, and cakes to celebrate with. Something is always being prepared in anticipation of sustenance while working.
Indeed, this ole' historic farmhouse is still at work, still on the job, all these many years later, even though times have changed. No matter how much the world changes, some things remain the same.
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