Once again I have returned, this time from a movie in Wilmington, North Carolina. As an emergency replacement I was plopped into a show already in high gear.

It is difficult for this shy flower to leave home and start from scratch with a new film, new places, new people. But to replace someone that’s already part of a family in a foreign land, with no prep, I’m talking reading the script on the plane, is like having needles slowly inserted into my eyeballs.

However this first (hopefully not last) experience in NC turned out to be a delight on many fronts. The Hollywood of the East, Wilmington has the biggest soundstage in the Americas outside of California. Who, outside of the film industry, knew?  The De Laurentiis family built the studio with generous “support” from the city, and it was later purchased and expanded by EUE/Screen Gems. Blue Velvet was filmed in Wilmington! Lovelovelove.

And now, with a film incentive package of 25%, meaning a $10 million show gets $2.5 million back  in tax credit,  $100 mil get $25 mil etc…you bet movies are stacking up to be made here and work with the experienced local crew.

Texas is dry, and I don’t mean drought this time. After losing so much work to New Mexico and Louisiana with their film rebates, TX finally voted in a small incentive, but didn’t fund it. Then when they did fund it, the wee 5-15% with all the caps and regulations was too little too late, for that money ran out in a flash. And I haven’t worked in the state in which I live since September of 2011.

Wilmington was just lovely, and the crew was great, and I grew up some. In a way being SO unprepared allowed for a letting go, and instead of taking it all so seriously I played more. The other growth spurt came in being a department of one and the ONLY loner to come from a lonely place. I had to stand up a to a couple of episodes of exhaustive male bullying. It is difficult to change the submissive patterns of a lifetime, but a switch went off and so did I. Hurrah! Don’t lie to me or expect me to lie for you or your numbers.

Horror films….Now after working long overnight hours and too much coffee everywhere trying to stay awake and ultra focused we can sometimes slightly lose our minds, all of us. And these are the moments when you see what you are made of. And I pray for grace. Then forgiveness when by light of day grace failed me! But it all worked out in the end.  All good, met some folks I hope to know forever, learned more about acting and directing, shared one of my scripts, heard some good music, walked the beach, wrote tons of poetry, and got to come home.

It ‘s a 10 minute to drive into town. That’s nothing when living in a city, it might take twice as long to drive to the highway, or favorite supermarket, or video store. But for some reason a lot of work and mental preparation go into leaving the country part of the country to go to the city part of the country.

One day a week we head in to run errands, swap info or plants or books with friends, and shop. Last week a friend and I were in the grocery store. We both reached for big boxes of baking soda, generic.

A woman in her 70’s interrupted us to ask what we do with a 2lb. box of soda. Well, we clean with it.  Like sinks and toilets? Yup. Does it really clean? Yup, especially with vinegar, and if you have a little mildewy grout (excuse me) you make a paste of it and let it sit on the funky spot for awhile.  If the area’s bad you might have to SCRUB.

She was surprised we both cleaned this way, and thanked us for sharing as we rolled away down the aisle back into our own conversation. But now it hits me, shouldn’t she be telling us youngishsters to stop paying money for the chemicals and use our muscles to clean the old fashioned way? My mom would wash the floors with vinegar water, and that’s how I clean the windows and mirrors too, wiping with non-streaking newsprint.

I’ve read that vinegar is as effective as bleach at disinfecting, depending on your application.  I prefer to NOT singe my nose hairs (though I am not particularly attached to them) nor sting my eyes to bleach sterilize the round white boom-boom box, or the shower that my workhorse of a husband will seem to instantly fill with farm dirt. I  prefer to build up the soil and NOT pour bleach out to the septic into the ground to kill the good bacteria and leach back down into the aquifer.  And I prefer to preserve any moment of life and health that I can, for my family and my environment.

J sometimes dabs his toothbrush into baking soda, using the soda instead of tubey toothpaste. My folks did that one as well. And now he has taken the plunge, and gone poo-less. Shampooless, massaging baking soda through his damp hair. The more natural less chemically laden hair products that we can afford still have ingredients we cannot pronounce or know what they are without research.  Thus J embraced this soda cleansing idea. After a good rinse he leaves diluted vinegar on his hair as a conditioner for a minute.  We’ve read of a greasy bed head transitional period for people getting off the store shampoo, but right off the bat his goldy locks were smooth and shiny and less frizzy. 

I’ll try it if you will.

Shampoo for my real friends, real poo for my sham friends!

As J was grooming the horse he found a piece of wire stuck in Cricket’s tail. “That’s it, enough, the final straw” I declared, and we began to clean up the piles of other people’s garbage scattered around the property.

A recycling yard just opened close to town, so there were no more excuses for hanging on to mounds of rotten metal. A walk to the chicken coop would feel like a maneuver through a combat zone strewn with rolls of rusted out barbed wire and fencing, materials that were left for later use but fell into abandon.

The kicker is the “family” junk pile a couple acres away from the house. A beautiful stroll through grand oak trees and interesting rock formations brings you to a raised impression, an above ground crater, like a shallow little volcano, filled with glass and metal things, rotting wood chunks (and scorpions/snakes/rats?!?). 

The family junk pile. Well shoot, this isn’t from MY family, but we’ve spent several days pulling 60 years worth of waste from this spot. Toilets, batteries, wringer washers, bicycles, car parts, tractor parts, motors, springs, lamps, chairs, mailboxes, cans, wire, wire, wire….And I am shocked and disappointed to come across a number of things that aren’t really that old at all.

My husband’s pulled 5 loads of metal off of this place, and a separate load of glass for recycling. And we’re still not done. And I am shocked that 3 generations would just drive a load of stuff they were tired of or didn’t want to fix or didn’t want to pay to throw away, just to dump in an open hole in their big backyard.

At first I would stamp my feet, call out that I come in peace and poke around with a stick to shoo anything that might be hanging out in the debris.  As the edges began to contract we became bolder about working from the center of the junk pile, though still feeling like the scene from Star Wars where the good guys are stuck in the Imperial Trash Compactor.

We set aside what cannot be reused or recycled til we have enough stuff to bring to the municipal dump. We do not make enough trash to warrant a $30 a month garbage service. Living in the city it must have been part of the taxes cuz I NEVER thought about how or where the garbage goes, nor who paid for it. We don’t make any trash, we bring it here – think about it -but what we cannot use, pass on, fix, donate, recycle or compost does go where it’s supposedly properly processed.

Walking around and seeing the trees and scrubby grass where junk used to be is a wonderful relief. And we talk about turning the garbage pit into a pond, or maybe set up a tipi, or tuck a root cellar in there. Picnic tables? Poetry platform? We talk about doing something special, to take the worst spot and make it into the best.

Finally the temperature reaches 22 degrees.

At sunrise I finished reading a book about Victorian life, then bundled up to feed the animals, and defrost water where possible by breaking up the ice in the troughs, and pouring my teapot into frozen water bowls. A fine snow covers the freshly plowed fields and the small house garden on this surprised Texas homestead.

The dog and I search for Curly, the missing duck. She eventually pops out of the garage, perhaps from warming a hidden nest of eggs.

Nervous about the extreme cold I drag firewood into the house and to the back door. It never feels like we have enough wood standing by for our small wood-burning stove. After running around outside, even the unheated inside feels good. I pile up red coals and start the morning fire from twigs and “squaw wood.” Eventually the blaze will accept chunks of oak cut from fallen trees on this land.

A late breakfast of oatmeal and yogurt satisfies with sips of coffee and almond milk. The grey sky releases hail like pin drops. A horse grazes in the distance, not minding the yet gentle pelting, which taps its own rhythm on the tin roof.  Some drips fall through the stove vent in the unfinished kitchen.

In the house I wear 2 sweaters and a woolen cap, while listening to Sunday Baroque, writing in an old binder on my lap, by candlelight.

The bed remains unmade, ready for me to slip back under the covers for a nap, or further reading. If only.

My husband helps a friend out of town, but calls to say he will weather the weather and be home in a few hours. Chicken defrosts for a welcoming stew.

The hail transforms to sleet, with ice clusters dropping in seemingly slow motion, easier to see in the rain. Standing out in the collecting whiteness, a patch of bright grass grows robustly where the rabbit hutch was stationed last year.

During a break in the storm I go back out to pick calendula flowers bent over with ice. They will dry and make a fine cup of golden tea, someday. A light shines from the greenhouse. A single bulb provides just enough warmth to keep the seedlings from freezing. All a reminder of a possible tomorrow. The actual tomorrow will be like spring.

This feels safe and timeless and real. Where am I and how did I get here? Thank you Creator for another day.