Next we took an arduous, dusty  drive way off the grid to another working ranch, this one with grapes, more than 3,000 plants rolling over two steep hills to capture the right amount of sun and heat.

City-delicate as I am and unused to toiling in the heat on steep hillsides, I gladly took on the task of cleaning the cabin. While my companions clipped and tied the would-be vines, I swept all corners top to bottom for cobwebs, dusted everything I could reach and then mopped the swept floors twice to remove the fine layer of black grit that accumulates so naturally in that far-country setting of dirt roads and dusty trees.

Our meals were simple and delicious: generous portions of squash from the garden, eggs from the chickens and a bean dish preserved from an earlier harvest.

The next day, we repeated the rituals of feeding the animals, gentle creatures content with the food and care they received from the humans in exchange for doing things that came naturally to them. Then we spent the afternoon in the garden, nurturing the plants bursting with more produce and gently grooming those whose productive days were still ahead.

That evening’s holiday barbecue was an adventure in creating dishes from fresh herbs and vegetables and items from the freezer.  I could not imagine coming up with a menu that way to feed the guests who arrived late in the afternoon, but it was a lovely and delicious meal outside in the breezes, where we could watch the horses and the hawks and enjoy the views over the garden we had toiled in earlier.

My hosts’ lives are tied to working the land, but that land nourishes them as well. Nothing is wasted, nothing is thrown away without careful consideration as to whether it could be used again somehow.  Solar panels help generate the electricity to power the accoutrements of modern life, wind powers the pumps that bring water; even the horse manure and yard waste was put back into the land as compost.

That immersion into a direct connection between land, labor and nourishment reminds me of how this nation was built. It made me grateful to all of those people who get up every day to lovingly and respectfully nurture the land and then share the bounty of their small farms and backyard gardens. While my Fourth was not a typical celebration of firecrackers and fireworks, it was a celebration of the heart of America.

But I don’t think those ads are saying it’s better to rely on domestic oil. How can we be less vulnerable to price spikes from oil companies if they are global? And how can we be more safe if our waters are fouled, a huge source of food and biodiversity devastated, and government agencies  letting oil companies choose profits over people? Somehow or other, energy producers will find a way to dip into my pocket to pay for this spill, just like they do when a power plant has to go offline for maintenance or repair.

I like shrimp and I’ll miss it. And I might have to give up some other things as I do everything I can to consume 10 percent fewer petrochemicals.  Stick that in your pipe, BP.

Who’s with me?

But things have a way of changing. It took very little time for that pup to soften me up with those wise old eyes and his steady gaze. And as our daily lives changed, I came to be the one picking up his treasures on our daily walks and then cleaning up the back yard each day.

But it’s astounding how few dog owners in my neighborhood pick up after their pets. Even the little-dog nuggets pile up. I see it in the park where the toddlers play, I see it on the ballfields were the teens and tweens play, I see it one the lawns across from the school, where the kids run and play on their way home.

Here’s my message to all of you owners who shirk their doody: Flies love it, so do their offspring.  The kinds of flies that like what your dog leaves are called “filth flies.” I should not have to explain what that means, except to say you don’t want those flies zooming in when you open your door and tasting whatever you’re serving for dinner.

And having said that, you might want to rethink leaving your dog’s stuff all over the neighborhood: Flies travel up to two miles in search of egg-laying sites. Your kitchen just might be on that route.

So make it a habit to grab a bag as you grab the leash. Don’t be a breeder!

So far, everything has fallen into place: When I did not find a job after six months of unemployment, we put the house up for sale. We tried loan modification, which would have required us to exhaust all resources, the thing we were trying to avoid, so that was not an option.

We were extremely fortunate in being able to spend enough money to make the house gorgeous and then found a Realtor group that knew how to market the house in these times. We all agreed on pricing and priced the house to sell from the start. The poor folks down the street were entering their 15th or 16th month for sale with yet another price reduction when we went on the market. Our plan had allowed for a sale as long 180 days after hitting the market. Happily, the process was less than 30 days.

Our little nest egg helped us pay off any remaining bills and debts. Our living expenses are sharply reduced even though we’re still comfortable.

The one thing we had not foreseen was the length and depth of this recession.  Our plan was a 15- to 18-month timeline and we’re reaching the outer limits of that. Part of the struggle, I think, is that employers don’t want to risk having to interview someone from far away, have them move and then have to let them go if the employee or the economy don’t hold up. But there are few jobs in California; anyone trying to change career paths, as I am, is at the back of the line behind other jobless people who have the skills and experience being advertised.

Some days it’s hard to stay positive and focused. But mostly, since so many share my situation, it’s easy to remember that I still have a lot to offer and will share it just as soon as the hiring begins again.

A bit later, my husband and I decided to take advantage of the cool, overcast day and hike in a nearby regional park (county park to you Midwesterners). We found a trail that took us past the most bizarre dam and a stand of redwoods, rare for this part of California.

But the dam and redwoods were not the weird part: We passed what seemed like dozens of stink bugs, some in pairs and some pairs heading away from each other.  They liked the weather, too, I guess.  I hope not so much we see twice as many of them later this summer. The dog will not be happy.

But it has me wondering if he was out of line. No, not whether or not he was correct, but whether he should have sent me subsequent comments privately to spare other friends, who were not chiming in. At all. But what really nags at me is whether it’s just plain rude to not cede the last word to the page owner.

What are your views on social networking eitquette?

My first time there, I was introduced to a woman who is studying about eight different subjects. I was told that even though she has a small income, she prefers the freedom of homelessness. On a recent rainy day, I passed her as I was leaving. She was on the bench just inside the door, eating Spaghetti-Os out of the can, looking quite content. I’m no expert, but she shows no sign of crazy. What she is is brave.

Last week, I helped a woman who told me she was an Olympian. Sure enough, when I Googled her later, there she was, one of the fastest women in the world in her time. She’s writing books and I look forward to them. If they are anything like the stories she told me, they will be compelling reads.

It is true: people who volunteer their time get a lot more in return than they give.

Like this guy, Lloyd Marcus, who travels around performing for attendees. Is he independently wealthy, does he live off donations or is he on someone’s payroll?

And who chooses the agenda and arranges for sites and permits? Are the American taxpayers picking up the tab for the extra law enforcement and after-party cleanup? I don’t know about you, but I think part of this picture is missing and I’d like to see it.

Wow! What a leap to think that people giving money for desperately needed medical care, food and water might presume their help would cure Haitain poverty if only spent correctly. What kind of Christian is Bill O’Reilly? Is it his lack of a college degree that prevents him from understanding human compassion? Shame on you, Bill.

Ditto for Rush Limbaugh. He says giving rapid aid to help free people trapped in collapsed buildings was only done to help the president win street cred among blacks for helping blacks.  Again, how about some compassion? Or education on how long a person can survive while trapped in rubble?

Too bad you guys get paid so well to spread hate. Think of all the good you could do.

Well, mostly.

This time around, we’re sharing a much smaller place. Having him in the house means a dramatic difference in water and power use, not to mention the food consumption. The dishwasher runs every day now, packed full even though there’s only room in the cupboard for eight of everything. And his presence in the guest room puts a crimp on my computer time, as my office is set up there, as well.

It won’t be forever, of course. He’s a college junior and will finish next year, moving on to his own job and life. So I try to treasure the little moments we share and remember that he was not the one to choose to move from his childhhod home and friends. And I try not to dwell on the fact that his dad and I are still adjusting to this new place ourselves and might like a little more time to settle in.

The good news is that nothing is forever. New challenges and opportunites lie ahead.

The sunny days that lure me outside are inspiring thoughts of growing tomatoes and herbs. I hope it goes better this year than last, too.

While we don’t have much yard (and the grass is pretty much the domain of the dog), I’m thinking of trying a vertical garden this time, in pots I can hang off the patio cover.

And I hope I have enough success with the herbs to dry some for use after the growing season. If you’ve bought herbs lately, you’ll know that an ounce of dried dill or parsley can cost about $10, so a packet of seeds could pay for itself several times over. But beyond cost, nothing beats the taste and smell of fresh-picked!

When the short winter days darken, it’s nice to curl up after dinner with a book or relax in front of the TV.  January brings a new round of DVR-worthy viewing, now that the long month of holiday specials and Bob’s bowl games are over.  I look forward to seeing how Ellen does on “Idol.”

Now we’re red and blue and left and right, conservative and liberal. That in itself is not a bad thing: people should have convictions and own them if it helps them make sense of the world.

But the shouting each other down, the knee-jerk dismissal of the opposing view and the TV talk-show bullying and fear-mongering are disingenous at first blush and disturbing and harmful when considered more carefully. How do we get back to civil debate?

For many of us it’s not an idle question. The holidays are upon us, and if you’re like me, your family is as divided as this nation. There won’t be much to talk about over the Christmas beast unless we can remember our manners.

Despite the three-day sale of much of our household goods, we still have about two dozen boxes of stuff. About a third of those have been opened and repacked, things we still think we want to keep but don’t have room for, like the china. Three big ones are repacked with things to sell or donate.

And somewhere in all of that is the toaster. I miss toast.

If he and his similarly self-taught fellow talk-tainment hosts had gotten some kind of academic education, they might know the actual causes and effects of the issues they raise. Perhaps they would be less inclined to spout their daily “How can I scare Grandma today?” monologues. It’s just cruel.

One thing became clear when we hauled all the boxes into our little rental: we brought too much. The weekend-long sale we had, disgorging new items onto the driveway for sale every day, emptied the rooms except for the ones with stuff we were sure we could use.  The dining room set was sold, but we hung onto the kitchen table and chairs. My husband sold his yard tools and nearly new lawnmower. I threw away all of the worn rugs, sheets that fit beds we no longer owned, any clothes that were stained or ripped. I hauled hundreds of books and DVDs to the local library branch.

The mantra was if we did not want to pay to move something or store it, it was for sale. Who knew that we still had so far to go?

This round is a little harder. We grapple with getting rid of those things we think we’ll still use but don’t have room for. My carefully packed Christmas decorations are still in the garage.  I’m a little afraid that if I open the box, I’ll feel compelled to get rid of even more of the ornaments I collected during family trips and marking events of the year. My husband kept his waders, which haven’t been in water since the kids were small and loved camping, so we both have our weaknesses.

I miss those weeks of living in a staged house, when there was no clutter and the place was always spotless. We’re working our way back to that again. But it’s going to take some time and a bit more fortitude.