So here’s the thing…there’s no gentle way to put this.
We have sold our house.
Hub Man will be retiring sometime this summer.
We are going to move north.
I know. Shocking!
Until he arrives there, I’ll be staying with my friend. She has granted me the rare privilege of my very own room with a view. She also said I can have a spot in her garden to plant some seeds. There are chickens. And horses. I already want to grow a little crop of red clover to feed said chickens. It’s a small flock of four. I want to take over chicken chores while I’m there. This will tide me over till I get my own flock.
Tomorrow I pack up Suzie Cube with filthy beasts and Mr. IMac. He’s already demanding we stop for an Italian Ice somewhere along the way or he refuses to go on the journey. What a Divo.
I’m going to miss my friends. This goes without saying. I’m going to miss the parade of Shelties that have trotted through our house. I’m going to miss my knitting friends ferociously. I’m going to miss my Sweet William bed, which is just putting out the very first little blossoms. I went out and said goodbye to them a little while ago. I’m going to miss the ever elusive Mr. Beaver, who only makes his presence known by his prodigious construction skills. And just because I need to tell the whole truth, I’m going to miss my bathtub here in this house. It’s a particularly nice bathtub. Dr. Rubber Duckie is coming with me, but I don’t know how he will react to a whole new tub. I don’t know where we will be living yet. I don’t know if there WILL be a tub. As a matter of fact, that’s my job. To try to find a house. . . with a tub. There MUST be a tub. It’s a mark of true civilization don’t you think?
(The Romans thought so.)
I have had some really rough days during the process of selling the house. The paperwork was intrusive and bordered on obscene at one point. After filling out a particularly nasty set of papers one night I had an emotional meltdown. I was standing at the kitchen counter with my head in my hands saying, “I can’t TAKE this any more!” Hub man said to me very quietly, “Well just remember, you are working toward a goal.” I looked up with what was probably a very unattractive sneer on my face. “Oh yeah, and what is THAT?”
“A chicken coop.” he said.
Well, I burst out laughing. And all the frustration fell off me in an instant. This is why I married the man. Humor can get you through some really hard things in life. I hit the mother load when I found him.
This will be my last night in this house. I’ve been grateful for it. It’s a fine house. But like Robert Burns…
“My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;
My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.”
Will I like it in the mountains?
Yes. I’m absolutely sure you will.
Have you MET these hens you speak of? Are they the PROPER kind of hens? Are they civilized hens? Or country hick hens?
Really, that’s hardly the right attitude to take. You haven’t even met them yet! Maybe you could learn a thing or two from country hens.
I’ll be the judge of that.
I’m sure you will.
You know, come to think of it, when you take into account the whole entourage, I think we are going to need a pretty big house….
(I’m getting my own room again aren’t I?)
Ummm, I think I have to go make dinner. We’ll talk about it later.
(I have a bad feeling about this…)
There will be a library within bicycling distance…
(This place may have possibilities.)