I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.
(John Masefield)
Sometime in the middle of the night, Ed came upstairs, all packed and ready to lay down for a fleeting rest. We didn't sleep. We'd just learned that the sailing date had been pushed forward by several days due to inhospitable winds and so in essence, if Ed stays with the crew and the boat, he'll be gone longer than we had first expected.
A few minutes after 5 a.m., I drive him to the airport.
I'm not really hoping that he'll show up in Norfolk Virginia, take stock of the boat and crew, and turn around and come back. I want him to do this sail. He needs new stories of being out at sea. He needs to think himself to be a guy capable of the fiercest adventure. Still, it is no secret that I am not at all loving the idea of managing the farmette on my own in his absence. I'm no stranger to being alone. I traveled half the world without a companion. But the farmette is our joint project and sitting here in the farmhouse watching the last leaves tumble down as bits of snow cling stubbornly to the branches of the crab, the maple, the birch, I can't help but think that November is destined to be as dreary as they come and without the blessed comfort of evenings on the couch next to a guy who rightly claims he makes the best popcorn in the world.
I do have projects for the month and I start in early. Before dawn. I mean, what else are you going to do in an empty house that's too gloomy right now, despite the twinkling lights Ed hung along the path to it yesterday evening. Tidy, fix, finish -- there's much to do here and I'd be wise to get to it. Ed is a distraction. A welcome distraction, but a distraction nonetheless and I'm sure I'm the same for him. Perhaps I can benefit from being horribly undistracted.
Breakfast, same, but very different.
A look outside...
The animals are as usual full of their own comings and goings. Stop Sign and the kitties are missing, the other seven though are waiting for their grub. I let the cheepers out and fill up their food dishes as well. They aren't so good at foraging in the colder months. Clean the coop, check the water, return home, clean the house, light a candle, purely for the sweetness of that flame.
In the afternoon, I pick up the joyful twosome. These guys! (The drill is that I get him, then we both go to pick up her...)
As we drive up to the farmhouse, there is this tug to run out and hit the maple leaves that are just beginning to come down. Snowdrop is craving a jump in dry leaves. But you can't quite get that right now. The leaves are not yet fully down, the ones that are down are cold and wet. Still, we give it a go!
Inside again, Snowdrop wants books. Lots of them. That's not quite fair to Sparrow, who already puts up with a good bit of reading even if it is above his pay grade. So we tango around the possibilities. Read a little, play a little, learn a little, watch a little. We cover it all.
And then the kids leave and I tend to the animals and reheat some supper foods and burn the popcorn.
One day down, an unknown number to go!
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.
(John Masefield)
Sometime in the middle of the night, Ed came upstairs, all packed and ready to lay down for a fleeting rest. We didn't sleep. We'd just learned that the sailing date had been pushed forward by several days due to inhospitable winds and so in essence, if Ed stays with the crew and the boat, he'll be gone longer than we had first expected.
A few minutes after 5 a.m., I drive him to the airport.
I'm not really hoping that he'll show up in Norfolk Virginia, take stock of the boat and crew, and turn around and come back. I want him to do this sail. He needs new stories of being out at sea. He needs to think himself to be a guy capable of the fiercest adventure. Still, it is no secret that I am not at all loving the idea of managing the farmette on my own in his absence. I'm no stranger to being alone. I traveled half the world without a companion. But the farmette is our joint project and sitting here in the farmhouse watching the last leaves tumble down as bits of snow cling stubbornly to the branches of the crab, the maple, the birch, I can't help but think that November is destined to be as dreary as they come and without the blessed comfort of evenings on the couch next to a guy who rightly claims he makes the best popcorn in the world.
I do have projects for the month and I start in early. Before dawn. I mean, what else are you going to do in an empty house that's too gloomy right now, despite the twinkling lights Ed hung along the path to it yesterday evening. Tidy, fix, finish -- there's much to do here and I'd be wise to get to it. Ed is a distraction. A welcome distraction, but a distraction nonetheless and I'm sure I'm the same for him. Perhaps I can benefit from being horribly undistracted.
Breakfast, same, but very different.
A look outside...
The animals are as usual full of their own comings and goings. Stop Sign and the kitties are missing, the other seven though are waiting for their grub. I let the cheepers out and fill up their food dishes as well. They aren't so good at foraging in the colder months. Clean the coop, check the water, return home, clean the house, light a candle, purely for the sweetness of that flame.
In the afternoon, I pick up the joyful twosome. These guys! (The drill is that I get him, then we both go to pick up her...)
As we drive up to the farmhouse, there is this tug to run out and hit the maple leaves that are just beginning to come down. Snowdrop is craving a jump in dry leaves. But you can't quite get that right now. The leaves are not yet fully down, the ones that are down are cold and wet. Still, we give it a go!
Inside again, Snowdrop wants books. Lots of them. That's not quite fair to Sparrow, who already puts up with a good bit of reading even if it is above his pay grade. So we tango around the possibilities. Read a little, play a little, learn a little, watch a little. We cover it all.
And then the kids leave and I tend to the animals and reheat some supper foods and burn the popcorn.
One day down, an unknown number to go!
