woodsmoke and pumpkin soup

We’ve moved in. 

At night we hear the trees creaking and the wood in our stove crackling.  The moonlight draws our eyes to watch the constant moving shadows thrown on the walls of our tent.  Between us and the forest there is only a thin canvas wall. We feel so close to the trees outside, and to the cold, unforgiving air.

To sleep we hide our heads in our hats and our bodies under piles of blankets; 2 fleece blankets, a wool one, an open sleeping bag, and a quilt.  Our blankets keep us so warm that we sometimes let the fire burn out in the night.  In the morning we throw on our coats and fumble with sticks and newspaper to start a fire.  Our noses feel like ice-cubes, our nostrils freeze, our fingers numb even within two layers of gloves.

Finally the fire takes.  We throw things into a pot for a morning soup; pumpkin, garlic, cinnamon, coconut oil.  There is little space to work- we cut our vegetables while sitting on the mattress that is our bed.  We wash our potatoes in the dark and discover a little extra grit in our stew; a little extra spice.

There is so much we still have to do to comfortably set up our new home, but we are students and school comes first.  Tomorrow we will stock up on our wood so that we are not having to cut wood at the We arrive at school smelling of woodsmoke and fresh air.  We are tired, but experiencing moments of incredible alive-ness; tired, but on our way to a routine.   

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