Boldly Forward

"The Old Farmhouse" by Reb Frost

I am happy to announce that...tentatively....we've found our house!

We made an offer on a newer farmhouse about 30 minutes north of here last week and found out over the weekend that our offer was accepted! We'd been watching this house for several months, waiting to see if the price would drop, and once it did, we moved in with an offer.

So now there will be the usual round of inspections, which is why we're still tentative at this point. (We may discover that a swarm of Asian stink bugs, or Amelia Earhart and DB Cooper have been inhabiting the attic for years. I doubt it, but one never knows.) But we're extremely optimistic that this is The One.

It's been a long road to get here, and as much as finding the right place took a long time, what also took a long time was finding out how we wanted to be in this "new world" we moved to 10 months ago. Did we want to be suburb-ians with chickens or true country bumpkins? Flatlanders or mountain folk? What cities did we want close proximity to?

There was also an insane sellers' market this last summer, and we decided early on that we were not going to lose our heads in bidding wars or in having to make immediate offers on places we weren't sure about. I am glad we didn't succumb to any of that madness, even if it did make our wait longer.

But I think the biggest mistake we made (in looking at the 20+ houses we saw...20+!) was in thinking we should adapt -- either to a house that wasn't really "us" and needed extensive remodeling,or to an area that made sense geographically but didn't necessarily feel like home. You figure if you move 800 miles, you are going to have to adjust to almost everything, including your home preferences. But if you do go in that direction, you will feel a keen sense of loss over what part of your personal dream (the things you already believe about what "home" should be) you are giving up. It might be enough closet space, that extra half-bathroom, or the view out your window. 

But if I could give any advice, I'd say honor those things, however irrational they seem to others. Or you will not be happy.

What we ended up with was something astonishingly familiar to both of us. It is a 1990's build (we have never owned a home older than that) that has a lot of flat, usable land, about 2 acres, with plenty of room for chickens, clotheslines, livestock, fruit trees and vegetable growing. It has a shop for Big Ag. It has air conditioning. But it's also reasonably close to city amenities. 

Oh sure, we spent time dreaming and trying on the idea of living in Victorian fixer-uppers, mid-century ranchers, and quirky old farmhouses with various additions tacked on over the years. But it turned out, what we really needed was a relatively plain-vanilla, modern home with no quirks and no surprises. Sure, we don't get any hidden closets, old wood-burning fireplaces, solid wood interior doors or built-in bookcases. But we did get something that felt like home. To us, anyway.

In short, our mistake was in trying to be too flexible, and force the square pegs that we are into round holes. Do that and it will never fit. All you'll end up with is bruised edges and disappointment. Especially at our age, when we've had a lifetime of living in, frankly, a certain kind of home. It's adjustment enough to move to a new state and settle in. Unless you're young enough to experiment with living in different kinds of houses, you might want to stay with something that feels familiar.

And so it's with a huge amount of excitement that we (hopefully) move on to this next phase of the journey, which is getting ready to move again, but to a place we can't wait to get to. 

One thing that occurred to me is that it will be great to get back to blogging about all things homesteading, that's for sure, as well as writing from a place that feels like home. And home is clearly where we want to be. 

Plus, plenty of time to plant some vegetables in spring! Hallelujah to that!

Darkness upon us

The real test over how well you weather the winter season is not November - December, when there are lots of holiday lights, parties, gatherings and shopping to keep you busy, happy and over-scheduled. No, it's what happens after that, in the dark and cold of mid-winter, with its short days, long nights and lack of holiday songs and lights,  that separates the hardy from the tender. It's been known to drive some folks mad...but for those willing to lean into those days -- to clarity.

I've noticed most people here in the PNW still have all their Christmas lights up. Maybe they'll take them down this weekend, or later this month, meaning we're truly heading into the darkest time of the year, both mentally and in the light our physical eyes perceive (because although we are actually adding roughly an extra 30 seconds of light each day now that we're past solstice, it doesn't add up to much just yet).  

I have never minded this kind of darkness. When I lived in the San Joaquin Valley, one of my favorite times of year was when the Tule fog rolled in thick and stuck around. Many days it never even cleared -- it was pea soup in the morning, more the thickness of a clear broth at lunch time, and then back to pea soup by about 4 pm again. It was a great time to stay indoors, light a fire, crochet, and listen to music or read. 

It was also a great time of year when I worked at the winery. We'd get stormy days, early on, when we'd have maybe two or four customers visit us over the entire 6 hour period we were open. I loved those slow, catch-up days because they could mean doing tasks I'd never have time for on busier days, or better yet, spending time getting to really know my coworkers as we chatted to pass the time. 

The slow, dark days of mid-winter are a time of hibernation, of incubation, when dreams began to take shape and you feel the new year beginning to take form in terms of goals, ideas and dreams. It is a time for patience and a time for thought and prayer. But without it, you risk just sort of launching into spring without any idea of what needs to stay in your life and what needs to go. It's no coincidence winter is a time when many of us clean out our closets. We're sorting through what works and what doesn't work anymore, both in what we've accumulated in terms of material goods as well as, on the emotional side, what we've accumulated in the form of relationships, habits, ideologies and desires. 

I like to think that when spring finally bursts forth into flower and sun, that I'll have a pretty good idea of what I want out of 2019, what I expect of myself, and what I'm ready to let go of. But without pausing to reflect on those things by using the dark days of mid-winter to sift, reassess and plan, it's all one long, endless road with no turn-outs or rest stops.

Not my kind of journey at all. I think the seasonal darkness has it's own set of special set of gifts it offers, if we're willing to accept them on their own terms. The greatest of which is that when darkness is prevalent, we have the ability to see our own light within much better.