Our little farmhouse was built in 1916, and I think I’m being possessed by the spirit of the farmer’s wife that must have lived here. Not really, but why do I have the sudden urge to do all things domestic now; things I’ve never even done before. It’s 10:30 pm and I just finished baking two loaves of bread.
When I got home from work today, I dug out my giant stock pot I received as wedding gift many years ago, and plunked two roasted chickens in it plus veggies to make my own chicken broth. Why? I have no idea. I ended up with 3 1/2 quarts of broth that I will freeze in ziploc bags tomorrow.
I even scrounged through all the chicken that boiled off the bone and froze it in ziploc freezer bags.
What next? Canning? Quilting? Maybe I should stitch up a bonnet and apron. Good grief!