Sunday morning was exactly how slow living should feel.
Coffee. No alarm. No rush. Cows grazing in the field and clouds moving slowly across the sky.
We could go somewhere.
We could take a book outside.
Or we could simply do nothing for a while.
And for a while, we did.
Then we checked the weather forecast.
Rain for the next few days.
And suddenly Sunday had a slightly different plan.
The grass was dry enough to cut. The wood was dry enough for another coat. And there were a few other things that would be much easier to finish now than sometime between the showers next week.
So we did them.
Not because Sunday stopped being Sunday. And not because we’ve somehow failed at this idea of a slower life.
Quite the opposite.
Living here has taught us that slow living doesn’t always mean doing less. Sometimes it simply means not forcing every day to look the way you imagined it should.
There is always something to do around a container home — from taking care of the garden to maintaining the house itself. Even our green roof has become part of that rhythm.
Out here, the weather decides quite a lot.
When it rains, we stay inside. When the sun comes out after several wet days, we work outside. When everything is dry and more rain is coming, you take the opportunity — even if it happens to be Sunday.
And perhaps that is one of the things I like most about living here.
We still had our slow Sunday morning.
Coffee was drunk slowly. The cows were watched. Nobody rushed anywhere.
We just happened to spend the afternoon with a lawn mower, a ladder and a tin of wood stain.
Slow morning. Productive afternoon. Still Sunday.