farmette life 15

Some people live in a house on the hill
And wish they were some place else
There's nobody there
When the evening is still
Secrets with no one to tell

Some I have known have a ship where they sleep
With sounds of rocks on the coast
They sail over oceans five fathoms deep
But can't find what they want the most

Even now when I'm alone
I've always known with you
I am home
(Vanessa Carlton)


The farmhouse, painted by us a "Caribbean yellow," stands on top of a hill -- in the country, yet so close to Madison. There's so much to love about this place and I knew this when I finally agreed to move here nearly nine years ago. We have made it our project: to care for the land, to expand flower fields, to encourage pollinators, to support the flora and fauna here. We don't always agree on how this should take place (I would like Ed to get help and cut back more of the trees), but this is trivial. We work together here.

Over the years, however, it became abundantly clear that I haven't the mechanical smarts to make much needed ongoing repairs and I haven't the physical strength to clear fallen timbers, move boulders, and maintain the land on my own. We could, perhaps, hire gardening help, but the mechanicals here would ultimately do me in. And so, if anything happens Ed, I will have to move. The farmhouse, for me, is only good when Ed is part of it. My home is here because he is here.

It should have been no big deal to be alone for two or three weeks. I mean, November gloomy and maybe a little sad, but manageable.  Nothing that a credit card can't solve.

Then came the cold days. And of course, let's put at least some of the blame squarely on the shoulders of the one who is responsible for much of the animal drama here: Stop Sign. In one year, we went from being catless to being flooded with cats. They're all over the place! And winter is coming and I felt sorry for them and so now we have cats in the shed and cats on the porch and cats under cars and cats on the road.

It is truly not the case that Ed should have stayed home. He should have done just what he did -- go help his friend sail a boat south. But my plate was already heaping before he left. Add some problems to is and the apple cart tips and everything falls apart.

So, perhaps we should have put some helpful pieces in place. And, from my own personal standpoint -- sympathetic utterances would have been super helpful. Words, gestures -- they matter!

Let me finish with Vanessa Carlton's last verse:

For me it's a glance and the smile on your face
The touch of your hands
And an honest embrace
For where I lay it's you I keep
This changing world I fall asleep
With you all I know is I'm coming home,
Coming home.


Or, you can just listen to the youtube clip. It's a song that had meaning for me when my daughters first left home and eventually moved back to the Midwest. And now it has this very real new meaning, something that became beautifully evident this month.

Breakfast. With a quilt.






Kittens. Just two.





Kids.

Snowdrop asks -- can we see the dead cat again? 
I buried her, little one.
Why? 
So she'll rest in peace.
She's resting?
Well, sort of. You say that out of respect. 
So, she wont come back?
No, but her memory stays with us. (Snowdrop has no memory of this kitten, so it's an idle point.)
And now we have only two kittens left.
Is one of them Little Gray?
No. Remember? We told you. (Clearly she does not remember.) Little Gray was hit by a car too.
So I wont be able to ever cuddle Little Gray again? Nooooooooooo! (lots of big tears)


And later:
Gaga, could you maybe sew a snugglie of Little Gray? So I can touch her?
Can I just find one on line?
No, can't you sew one? (Not gonna happen...)
I'll look into it. (Amazon to the rescue.)











Evening. I feel that suddenly, everything is swinging upwards. Fever down, lungs clearing, temperatures rising, snow melting. And the sailboat is coming closer to shore. And there's a one way ticket for Ed, who is coming home.