So, here's the deal.

A couple of days ago I wrote a long-winded exposition about my blogging goals and motivations, but decided to save it for my memoir and instead just present to you an outline. If you turn out to be a regular visitor, you’re going to learn more about me than you’d prefer soon enough.

I’ve started blogs before, and abandoned them. Not this time. Why? Because I spent about 9 hours crafting my sweet chicken masthead. And besides that, this time feels different. I feel as though not blogging isn’t an option.

There are, however, a few things you should know.

• I grew up on what is now a 4th generation family-owned and operated dairy farm.

• About 3 ½ years ago I moved from Eau Claire, WI to Portland, OR, and somehow weaseled my way onto the marketing team at Powell’s Books.

• I am capable, at any given time, of envisioning and yearning for drastically different ways of life.

It’s true. I teeter between wanting to move to New York or San Francisco to pursue writing or publishing - or - packing it up to find a plot somewhere in South Dakota where I can tend to my goats, bake chicken pot pies and be left alone to my needlework and seed catalogs. I experience both extremes multiple times a day. I have yet to seek therapy over the matter. I’ve chosen to blog instead.

I’ve also taken on a goal or two. As a way to tide myself over while I hash out what exactly it is I want for myself, I want to learn how to create things that I’d normally buy. I want to sew, polish up my baking skills and figure out a thing or two about making plants grow. I want to be a metropolitan homesteader. At least until I find my own little piece of earth. I want to complicate my life in order to make it more simple. Make it harder in order to make it easier. It’s complex. I tried to warn you.

So there it is, a mission statement of sorts. I have proclaimed my intentions. It’s likely that this blog will be sprinkled with the occasional book review, political rant or “look how cute these loafers are” notification. I’m open to whatever shape it takes, unless I wake up one day to find it severely lame and self-important. But I promise, at the very least, to make it entertaining. Humor me.