I met Ed in the month of October. Several months passed before he worked up the nerve to invite me to visit his home – the rebuilt sheep shed at his farmette. A few months after that, I again spent some time at the farmette. I told him then – I could never live here. The time needed to improve the property – it would swallow me whole. And I couldn't not take care of things. If I’m plunked into a mess, I want to straighten it..
So, do I recall those early thoughts now that I'm in the thick of moving in? Yes, sure, and it's obvious to me that I was right and I was wrong about life at the farmette. Five years later, I am in fact facing the outdoor clutter. (though these days, I regard it as less of a clutter; more like mild disorganization -- some of it quite deliberate). And I cannot not take care of it. But here’s the surprise – it’s okay. I do what I feel compelled to do. No more, no less.
So, this is a good thing, no? I can't tell right now: I'm too sore to think straight. Surely I pushed my limits today! We attacked the parking space. I planted the new perennials. And then, we began the task of pulling out the creeping Charlie, transplanting good plants that fared well, removing those that were a touch out of control.
Form eight in the morning, until four in the afternoon, we worked without interruption.
The end of the day. We drive to town to buy groceries. On the way, we pull up at Menards. One grouting mix to return three electrical wall plates to throw in. Ed says -- that's it? Kind of sad not to have a long list.
The Geo is full of Woodman groceries as we finally pull out of the parking lot. Eight o'clock. It's just getting to be dark. Ed's car is acting up again: the headlights flicker, then die. We take back roads to avoid cars that may wonder why we're crawling along with hazard lights flashing.
All is quiet at the farmhouse. Just as you'd expect it. Just as you'd want it to be.