Sometimes. as I open my eyes in the morning, I’m not sure where I am. That’s how often we are back and forth between the farm and our suburban home. My sleepy mind can’t always keep up. If my toes land on hardwood, I know that I’ll need my warm bathrobe so I can go feed the chickens.
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Have you heard of Fika? It is a Swedish tradition, taught to me by my daughter-in-law, where you take a break from work to enjoy a cup of tea or coffee, a little tidbit, and conversation. I love this observance, especially because my former favorite ritual of a glass of wine in the evening is forbidden. (You can read about my sober life here.)
Anyway, I was out at the farm one sunny afternoon in July, getting my Fika on with a cup of darjeeling and a cookie, watching a hen out the window.
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