One Last Visit to the Farm

Emily, Omar, Sophia, and Lola the Grandpup visited last weekend.  The weather was beautiful, and we thoroughly enjoyed our last time together on the farm.

Don did a fish fry Friday evening, and we all ate our fill of n*rthern pike, w*lleye, and sunfish brought back from Lake W*nnie this summer.  Then we all watched Pin*cchio.  I am always amazed at how dark children's movies are.  I know it's supposed to help them sort out good and evil in a safe way, or something like that, but, really, turning naughty boys into donkeys???  I felt bad for the boys and insulted for donkeys.

On Saturday, the girls had gifts from Emily and Omar -- pens, paper, envelopes (!!), notecards, and stickers so they can be pen pals after we move.  They were a big hit (and very thoughtful).

We headed to Tr*mpealeau N*tional W*ldlife Refuge for some hiking and birdwatching before lunch.  It was a spectacular day to be on "Am*rica's Flyway."  We will miss the tremendous natural resources in this area.

After lunch, it was time to frost cupcakes that we'd made in the morning...

...then spend some time in the yard.

It was a treat watching Sarah and her niece ("Mom, I'm not Sophia's friend; I'm her aunt."), as always.  They are so sweet together.  Sarah handled Sophia playing with her things much better than in the past (although she did stash some toys beforehand).  She was well behaved and polite the whole time, except for bedtime.  Once she was alone with me, it was as if a switch flipped, and she instantly became defiant.  I think she had reached her limit of emotional control and needed to unload.  I handled it better than in the past, I think, and we avoided a meltdown.  We both continue to grow.

Luckily, this wasn't really goodbye yet.  We will spend our last night in Wisconsin at Emily, Omar, and Sophia's house on Nov. 17 as we start our move east.  No doubt some tears will be shed then.

Finally, a funny story to tell on myself:  The carbon monoxide detector malfunctioned and started wailing Saturday morning after breakfast.  The noise was ear-splitting, so I quickly unplugged it and looked to see how to disable it.  Below the flashing light were the words "Move to fresh air," so I rushed it out the door and left it on the deck still blaring.  Don and Omar showed up then and went out to remove the battery to stop it.  When he came back in, Don said gently, "I think 'Move to fresh air' means get yourself outside, not the detector."  I'm afraid the last few weeks have left me a bit dim-witted.

Goats Are Hot, Donkeys Not

Goats and donkeys are not the easiest pets to move cross-country.  So, I've spent the last month trying to find good homes for our little herd.  I quickly learned that p*gmy goats are a hot commodity, and donkeys, not so much.

Doesn't this tug at your heart?

No sooner had I posted the goats on Cr*ig's List than my mailbox started filling with messages. I chose a young woman who lives with her husband and two small children on 25 acres, along with eight horses, a goat, a pig, and I forget what else. She showed up in a station wagon with two large dog crates.  We loaded the three girls into the crates, and off they went.  The goat she has is a male, so there will probably be babies before too long.  I'm a little envious....

Sprite (aka Grandma), Daisy, and Clover

Unfortunately, as Don says, the donkey bubble seems to have burst.  We paid $500 for Hombre and $750 for Hannah nine years ago.  I put an ad on Cr*ig's List with prices from $100 to $300 each and got no responses -- zero, zip, nada.  Next was the daily newspaper.  We had a few people come to see them, but no takers.  Finally, the weekly "shoppers."  That drew a few more lookers.

One couple brought their young grandchildren, and the kids fell in love with Dusty.  They said they needed to think about it, but I was pretty sure they'd be back.  They called a few days later and said they were trying to decide whether to take one or two.  I did my best to pitch "the boys" without being too pushy, and it worked.  They both went for $150.

They used our old horse trailer, and we basically had to lift the little guys (about 200 lbs. each) into it.  Once loaded, all we could see was their beautiful long ears twitching this way and that, trying to figure out what was going on.  They went to live with a miniature h*rse and a Sh*tland pony, and apparently the mini wasn't too welcoming.  The man called a few nights later, though, to let us know that they'd settled in fine and all was peaceful.

"The Boys," Danny and Dusty

That left the three older donkeys, Hannah, Hombre, and Anna Belle.  They're not as good-looking as the boys (let's face it, they're fat), but they're still sweet.  Even Hannah the brat has been behaving well with visitors.  I put them on Cr*ig's List again, for $50 each.  That seemed to be the magic price, as we got a handful of responses.

Two young women with adjoining hobby farms came the next night.  One decided to take Hombre, and the other chose Anna Belle.  Don offered Hannah for free, and one said she'd think about it. 

They showed up two days later with a big cattle trailer and the good news that Hannah could go with Hombre.  Yes!  I couldn't imagine how I'd ever find a home for her on her own, and it warms my heart to have her and Hombre, who've been together since they were young, stay that way.

Although we thought loading them into the trailer would be a donnybrook, it went amazingly well.  Hombre and Anna Belle hopped right in when asked.  Compliance is not in Hannah's nature, but, with a good push, she was in, too.  Before we knew it, they were on their way.  Hannah and Hombre will now share space with horses and cows, and Anna Belle will have two mini horses for company.

Hombre, Hannah, and Anna Belle

Our last livestock leave the farm

When the last three left, they took the farm with them.  There's a reason they're called "livestock";  they certainly gave the place life.  That's when I shed my first tears over leaving our home, and I well up whenever I think of them.  I will miss seeing their lovely earthy brown images out in the pasture and hearing their deafening, disarming calls.  I challenge anyone not to smile when a donkey brays. 

While the donkeys were the soul of the place, the goats were its heart.  Always eager for attention (and treats), they were the favorites of the neighborhood kids, and they were usually visible (and audible) whenever we were in the yard.  They made excellent company.

The barn is now buttoned up, empty except for a few persistent pigeons who are ignoring Don's eviction notices.  The new home owners have agreed to take the chickens, so we'll get to do afternoon chores until we leave.  How strange it will be to have nothing to do at 4:00.  We may have to adopt a new ritual, such as afternoon tea, to fill the void.

Don closing up the pigeons' entry into the hay loft

On the Move

We have a signed offer on our house!  It's been in the works for three weeks now, and I'm finally ready to call it a mostly done deal.  We have one more hurdle to clear, but we should close in mid-November and be at my mom's for Thanksgiving.

There've been many twists and turns in the sale negotiations, but I'm confident that things are working out the way they're meant to.  The buyers are a couple we know from church.  They looked at the house and loved it when it was on the market ten years ago but couldn't afford it then.  It seems fitting that they now have a chance to make this their dream home, as it's been for us.

In addition to the house, we've been selling nearly everything that isn't nailed down.  We've placed ads on Cr*ig's List, in the local paper, in the weekly "shoppers," and on community bulletin boards.  We've sold a pickup truck, camper, boat, horse trailer, five donkeys, and three goats.  The emails, phone calls, and in-person visits have seemed endless, especially for a couple of introverts like Don and me.  Sarah, on the other hand, has become quite comfortable with drop-ins and eagerly shows them around.

We've sorted through nearly every space in the house, barn, and various outbuildings, with many things ending up in the "boat building" for this weekend's garage sale.  We've also filled a small dumpster three times.

It's felt good, for the most part, to purge and simplify our lives.  Small waves of melancholy sweep over me every now and then, however, as we deconstruct the beautiful home and hobby farm we lovingly created over the past 10 years.  Of course, some sense of loss is unavoidable and healthy with a change this big, even though I'm certain we're doing the right thing.  I'm trying to embrace it and appreciate the final weeks we have here, so that I'm ready for the next exciting chapter in our lives.

That chapter begins in a couple of weeks, when we fly east to look for our new home.  We've been searching online and found about 10 properties that look interesting, a few of which appear promising.  We're focusing on two areas -- one in western M*ss., within half an hour's drive of my mom, which would be preferable, and the other in southern New H*mpshire, which is about an hour away and more affordable.  I've had great fun creating a spreadsheet comparing the features of each listing, including thumbnail photos.  I'm such a nerd....

Which brings me to the question of the day:  what do New Engl*nders have against garages?  I'm from there, and I don't know.  My family never had one.  I never had one before my current house.  The only relatives I can remember having one were my Nana and Papa.  Only a handful of the homes we're looking at has them.  They seem to be regarded as a luxury.  I blame the Pur*tans.

But I digress....  If all goes well, we could celebrate Christmas in our new home.  What a gift that would be.  Then again, I'd rather not think about Christmas right now...too many other lists to check.

The Time Is Now, We Hope

Yes, that's a (gasp!) For Sale sign in front of our house.  I've mentioned a couple of times that we plan to move to New Engl*nd to be near my family.  We had hoped that I could find a job there first, which would help pay for our relocation.  A recent family development has convinced us not to wait, however, and we've figured out how to do it with our current assets.  The house was listed online Friday, and we put the sign up this morning.

My sister Heather has been fighting breast cancer almost continuously for the past nine years.   She is receiving the best care in the world, I believe, and each time a challenge has arisen, it has been met successfully with new drugs.  This summer, she learned that the lesions in her brain are growing again.  She began a new treatment regimen a few weeks ago, and her doctor is confident that it will do the job.  She is a remarkable woman, and I have faith that she will continue to have the upper hand in this battle.

This latest episode made it clear to me, however, that waiting for all the pieces to fall into place for our move was wasting precious time.  Life is uncertain, and if I want Sarah to grow up surrounded by my family, then I should get her there now.  In other words, the best way to move to New Engl*nd is to just do it.  Things will work out.

Our first thought was to list the house in the spring.  After meeting with the realtors, though, we decided on October 1, since it might not sell quickly and I want to be settled in time for Sarah to start kindergarten in the fall (although I refuse to think too much about THAT right now). Then, we figured we could be ready by mid-September, and somehow that morphed into last week. 

It was quite a week, with Don gone fishing, Sarah starting school, inspectors poking around, and me trying to make the place presentable.  But then, Don and I have a history of doing big things all at once -- ten years ago, we married, moved, and started new jobs all within a month, and three years ago, he retired right before we went to China to adopt Sarah.

The realtors are optimistic the house will sell quickly (what else would they say?).  If they're right, we could be moving before Thanksgiving.  We've been househunting online and have homed in on an area roughly 20 miles west, south, and east of Br*ttleboro, V*rmont.  That would put us about an hour from my mom and not much more from my sister and brother.  It would also be within commuting distance (barely) of the F*sh & W*ldlife Service regional office, which leaves the door open a crack for job possibilities for me.

Sarah is beyond excited about living near her Grammy, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  I know she doesn't understand the process, but she seems okay with letting another family have our house.  She has welcomed the many strangers (real estate agents, movers, inspectors, photographer) we've had recently and tagged along to see what they're doing, offering much unsolicited advice.  When we signed the sales contract, she sat quietly at the table and took detailed notes, which she offered to the realtors when we were done.  They were good sports and said they'd add the page to our file, which pleased her greatly.

Don and I are absorbing the impact of such a big change.  We both have adored this house since the day we first laid eyes on it.  It is our dream home -- more than either of us ever dreamed of, really.  We both grew up in much simpler abodes.  I still get a thrill every time I pull into my heated garage on an inclement day and walk into the house unscathed by the weather.

And then there's the property.  I always wanted to have a little farm, much like the one my mom still has.  I didn't think it would ever happen, but I've enjoyed these five acres and the plants and animals they support for a decade now.  I've watched the old silver maple "Grandfather Tree" stoically endure the harsh winters and generously offer shade from the blistering summer sun.  I've nurtured perennial fruits and flowers, while Don has planted hundreds of native shrubs and fostered three plots of native prairie.

The goats, donkeys, and chickens have brought us (and our neighbors) untold joy.  My greatest concern with the whole move is finding good homes for them, as we won't be able to bring them east with us.  I worry about the donkeys the most, since they are all relatively young, donkeys live to be 40 or so, and the market seems to be saturated.

With all that said, I am still sure that we've made the right decision.  Ever since we moved here, I've daydreamed about living in New Engl*nd once more, but I could never envision leaving these five acres.  I've felt torn by the possibility -- wanting it so badly but unable to embrace it.  Something inside me changed a few weeks ago, however, and I now know that we belong there, not here.  We've been immensely blessed to make this our home, but it's time to let it go.

Thankfully, Don is a supportive, understanding partner and recognizes that moving is in our family's best interest.  There will be emotionally painful trade-offs, though.  We will all miss seeing his parents, Rachel, Matt, Emily, Omar, and Sophia as often as we do.  Unfortunately, there is no perfect solution for a family so spread out.  We will do our best to stay in touch, as we've done with my family.  Leaving our newfound church family will also be tough.  They have embraced us, and Sarah has blossomed in their loving care.

With all the uncertainty that the future holds, I'm doing my best to have faith that everything will work out the way it's supposed to.  I'm ready for a smaller, less-demanding home, and my mind runs wild with all the possibilities for fun and adventure in New Engl*nd.  For the last 25 years, I've held onto the following quote by Sc*ttish mountaineer W*lliam H*tchinson M*rray:

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back.  Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans:  that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too.  All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred.  A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.  Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it.  Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.  Begin it now.

We have begun....

A Special Season

Strawberry season has long been one of my favorites, but it took on added meaning three years ago, when I burned much nervous energy picking and processing berries while waiting for Sarah's referral.  I will always associate the red, ripe fruit with the sweetness of seeing her face for the first time.

The season is a couple of weeks early this year and will likely be over by the time the actual anniversary rolls around on the 22nd.  And, of course, Sarah now joins me in the patch and is an able harvester herself.  She checks carefully to make sure they're "red all around" and picks about a pint before indulging herself, then repeatedly asking, "Mom, can I have just one more strawberry?" 

When we're done each day, we have a "little picnic," either on the back deck or at her table under the Grandfather Tree (our huge, old silver maple).  Our patch is past its prime, and we should have put out new plants last year, but there's still nothing like enjoying a freshly picked strawberry, knowing it's been touched only by sunlight, rain, and your very own hands.

Future Farrier?

The farrier came to trim the donkeys' hooves today.  He let Sarah help last time, and she was excited to assist again.  Something tells me her list of what she wants to be when she grows up will be long and varied.

Speaking of Eggs...

...we're back in business.  The chicks we got in October are now grown, and they started laying a few weeks ago.  After selling half of them on Cr*ig's List when they were partially grown, we have a small, diverse flock.  My best guess is that our egg-layers are two Light Brahmas, two Barred Rocks, four Americaunas (who lay green/blue eggs), a Silver-gray D*rking, and a Rh*de Island Red.  It's so nice to be eating fresh eggs again.

We unintentionally ended up with two roosters.  We knew we had a Rh*de Island R*d, but it became apparent a while ago that the large black chicken is no hen.  We may have to sell one of them, as they will likely start to fight (in addition to making twice the noise at daybreak).  The red one is borderline aggressive and makes me nervous when I tend the flock.  He's the one I'd like to see go, as I want to feel comfortable letting Sarah collect eggs.  Don thinks he's a good defender of the hens, however.  I believe the other one is a Black L*ngshan, a breed from Ch*na.  He is gorgeous and docile.  I think he's the keeper.

We've been getting up to eight eggs a day, so we're back to selling the surplus.  At noon on Fridays, we put a cooler out front and accept goodwill donations, which are used to support Sarah's and my tag saling habit.  Keep up the good work, girls!

The world would be a better place if more people kept chickens. Watching them stroll around the pen, eating bugs and grass and softly clucking to one another, soothes my soul.  Dogs and cats get credit for lowering their owners' blood pressure, but our chickens are more dependable in that area than our house pets, who often raise mine. 

A Girl and Her Donkeys

Cheep Entertainment

We got the call from the post office at 6:15 Friday morning:  "Your chicks are here -- please come get them."  By the time Sarah got up 20 minutes later, there was a box of 28 little peepers awaiting her in the kitchen.  It's hard to say who was more excited -- she or Cadi.

We took them out to the garage and introduced them to the cardboard box they'll call home for the next month or so.  They seemed happy to have room to move around after the close quarters of the last couple of days, and some stretched their little wings and legs dramatically.  We ordered the "Rainbow Layers," so they're a colorful lot of various breeds that will make themselves known as they mature.

Sarah is taken with them and visits every hour or so.  "I'm going to see the baby chicks," she'll announce, as she heads out the door.  She's very gentle and has learned quickly how to hold them without squeezing.  She scoops one up, holds it to her cheek, then gives it a kiss.  "They're very, very cute, Mom," she says.

Emily, Omar, and Sophia came for a visit yesterday, and Sarah relished her role as docent.  She coached Sophia on holding them and reminded her not to squeeze. 

The only member of the family who isn't thrilled with their arrival is Sophie the Cat, who, because she insists on waking us in the wee hours of the morning, spends the night in the garage.  Needless to say, until the chicks are big enough to go outside, she'll be sleeping in her travel kennel.