since may. volume 1

I used to live here.

We had lots of room to roam.  

And roam we did.

Our closest neighbors were horses, Jane and Patrick, remember them?

There were also some sheep too.  I don't know their names.

No one could see you outside at this house.  So you could walk around in your underpants in the great outdoors.  

That's how God intended, right? 

 Underpants and rainboots.

There was a creek behind the house. (tho truthfully that may just have been a sewage drain... creek sounds more romantic.)

I had plans for this house.

There were chickens.  

The hound dogs could run until they couldn't run anymore.

Oh, and the front porch.  

The front porch! 

There was a fireplace in the dining room, with a rocking chair and an ottoman.

A perfect place for taking tea.  If you do things like that.

And I do.

And the main walls of this house are over 200 years old.  

This house has seen things.

This house was built with love.

And lived in, in love.

There were going to be goats, and horses, more chickens (you can never have enough chickens), gardens, greenhouses, llamas, tractors, ponds.

And babies.

Martha Stewart was going to come to me for advice.

Hell, she still might.

Oh, I should mention, this house has the most glorious sunsets.  

And at night the most fantastic show of stars you've ever seen.
Outside of Loose Creek.
I do love the stars at night, out in the country.
It feels kind of like a secret between you and God...all the hidden stars you can't see when you are near the light and activity and noise of the city.
Kind of like that quiet in prayer/meditation/whatever you personally choose to call it... where you hear or feel, or know.
But you have to get away from the noise first.

How things have changed.
Now I live here.



It's not nearly so grand.
But it contains the same love.
And the same dreams.
And sunflowers, an awesome neighbor, and a whole room just for yoga.
And it seems to be just everything we need right now.
(A whole room for yoga!)
Well maybe I won't have goats, and tractors, and ponds here.
It would probably get crowded with goats and chickens and dogs.
And the driveway isn't big enough for a tractor.
And you can certainly not go outside wearing only rainboots and underpants.
(I've only almost done that a few times.)
So I'll stick with the chickens and the dogs.
Who wouldn't keep those two?
Look at 'em.


Now the chickens on the other hand.

They died.
Hawks and dogs.
May their little chicken souls rest in peace.
I will get some more chickens.
They are just such lovely creatures.

Oh, and did you know, Salami has the most wonderful sunsets.
I didn't.
In Hawaii we were in perpetual search of that elusive Hawaiian sunset
Always too late, too early, in traffic, wrong side of the island, wrong side of the mountain, storm moving in.
Never found it.
First night in Salami- orange and purple and pink sunset.
Amazing.
I wish I had a picture of that.
Just close your eyes and imagine it.
You can do it.


You probably wonder why I moved from first place to the second place.
That first house is me, in house form.
Why would I leave?
Is it because Husband and I have nomadic spirits that cannot be tamed?
Perhaps.
Actually, we moved for him to start his own practice.
Staying in our house would have been one long commute.
And I support him in whatever it is he does.
I'd follow him wherever he wants to go.
Ends of the earth.
Literally.
Here's proof. 

(This is my second to last hike.
Also known as my first hike.)