Packed Up

This Saturday saw the last of the items that we were keeping removed from my parents' house.

The house is empty, completely empty outside of appliances.  Having not seen it when my parents moved in, I think this is the first time that I have observed it largely as it looked when we moved in.

It is odd:  the remaining items that I agonized over whether to keep or let go - all gone.  It is as if there was never a decision to be made about it.

The house was also professionally cleaned; I do not know that I can ever remember the house looking that clean.  Cobwebs are gone, flat surfaces are dusted, the carpet looks fresh and plush.

The last few things - a set of dishes I needed to repack to make them more manageable, the last piece of furniture - were moved down to the barn for safekeeping.  The numerous keys that were located on the keychain I borrowed four years ago were gone through and compared with existing locks, some to be thrown away and some to pass back to my sister.  The last sets of pictures that my Uncle had requested were taken up to him.  Other than towels and curtains and a single item to be donated to the local historical society, it is over.

In theory there should be no reason for me to have to go up to attend to the house now, although I plan on going on my monthly rounds at least for now:  there are still people to visit and at some point all of the things in the Barn have to make their way to a more permanent storage locker.  

But I have to confess that, sitting in the airport going and coming again, waiting for another round of flight delays, the inevitable shuffle of masses of people on and off of planes and through terminals and getting picked up, made me realize that I will not miss the portion at all.

Maybe some day in years hence, I will look back on photos or think on experiences and feel sad.  But more and more what I remember is the weird twilight of this preparation, of efforts and time expended for a thing that is rapidly passing from view.

The Ranch: An Update

 I have not written much lately of The Ranch.  That has been somewhat by accident, but also somewhat by intent.

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A short history:  The Ranch is a property in Old Home (near where I grew up) which has been in our family since the late 1940's.  This was where we went for years when I was growing up for holidays and over weekends.  My mother went up there when she was a child; later my father joined her and so - literally - I have been going there my whole life.

In the late 1970's my parents and my maternal uncle and his wife bought the core of the property from my Aunt:  the Ranch house with its outbuildings, a small cabin, and approximately 230 acres of which my parents purchased 90 acres after the property split.  They built a home there in the early 2000's and spent the next 20 years there until age and disease forced them to move.

For years, my sister and I had an unwritten agreement: when the time came to separate the estate, I would get The Ranch and my sister would get the rest of the estate. We figured the amounts would be about the same.

For well on 30 years, this was the place that I kept dreaming of getting back to.  The dream became harder when, in 2009, Hammerfall sent us packing halfway across the country.  Suddenly a visit was not an relatively manageable drive, but rather a long haul by car or expensive haul by plane.  Our visits dwindled:  once a year, possibly twice a year.  

But still, in my mind, The Ranch was my home.

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In June of 2020 I was able by a freak of fate called The Plague to be able to spend one week a month there - first to help my parents, then when they moved in early 2021, to make sure the place was more or less taken care of.  That extended through 2021all the way to early 2024.  

Then, two things happened in 2024.

The first was that - with the passing of my mother - the question of the estate became real, not a theoretical exercise. The second was that due to Hammerfall 3.0, we moved back across the country much closer to Old Home - but, with the move came a job that required me to be on site 5 days a week.  My week of visits immediately compressed to a weekend at best - and by weekend, I meant not more than 30 hours from wheels down to wheels up.

A week in a place on a regular basis can hold the makings of normality.  One long day once a month or once every two months does not.  And so, when the thought came into my head in August of last year that I was getting tired of doing this, it was not as surprising as it might have been two years prior.

Which was followed, a month later, by a to that point heretical thought:  What if I never moved back here? What if we sold The Ranch?

Somewhat attesting to my maturity (rather surprisingly) I did not dismiss this thought out of hand.  I sat with it.  I asked my sister if I could have until November to make a final decision.  I reached out to The Ravishing Mrs. TB about it.  I talked with what is my Brain Trust:  The Outdoorsman, Rainbow, La Contessa, The Director, The Shieldmaiden, Uisdean Ruadh. 

And I did a lot of thinking.

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The fundamental reality I was forced to confront was taking life as it is, not life as I would like it to be.

Assuming everything holds together (perhaps a silly thought, but we have to operate on some sense of normality),  I have up to a decade of work left ahead me before I could think about retiring.  I - above all people - know that circumstances happen that can disrupt where one lives and works without warning.  And yet, one has to "be" somewhere.

I thought about the idea of 8 to 10 years of building a life somewhere, only to decide to lift it up one more time to move somewhere else.  This past time, it was after living somewhere for 15 years and that was hard enough.  I do not relish the idea of doing it again.  And, as I have related over the past 16 months, there are "signs" that this is where I am meant to be, at least for now: a church where I have "spoken to" more than once, a dojo in my iaijutsu style that is only one of a handful in the United States.

And there were practical applications as well.  Frankly, we are reaching the point where things like reliable medical care need to be a thing.  And quick medical care, not 40 minutes from the hospital (as it is at The Ranch).  And an airport within an hour of the house, as likely our children will never live near us so we will have to go to them.

But most of all, something had changed.  In me.

I cannot fully tell you what it was.  But something changed between March and August of 2024, something that skewed the cant of my life away from a place I had been going to my whole life towards something unknown.  It was fueled in part by the realization that for more years than I can count, I have always been between places, between New Home 2.0 and The Ranch or now New Home 3.0 and The Ranch.  Going and coming, but never enough to build a life or make connections.  I found that perhaps, for the first time, I was willing to admit that like Bilbo Baggins, I was stretched thin, like butter scraped over toast thinly.

And so, I told my sister that it was time.

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This has, of course, set off unexpected ripples as well.  The Cowboy and The Young Cowboy have started the process of winding down their operations there.  Uisdean Ruadh is aware of the sale; I have advised him as strongly as possible that he should probably be ready to start looking for a new place.  My Aunt and Uncle and Cousin have started discussions on what it will look like when the property that is largely shared - the meadows, for example, have to be delineated and separated.

Even if done gently, the ripples do unintentional harm.

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How do I feel about this decision 9 months in?  At peace, perhaps surprisingly.  The biggest challenge - just making the decision - is done.  Now events are on a process, if not on a timeline, and will run their course.

I confess that in this I have been strangely comforted by FOTB (Friend Of This Blog) Juvat from Chant de Depart. He and his wife ("Mir. J") have been going through their own preparations of sale for a property that I believe they thought they would be at for many more years, fueled by their own realization that things and priorities were changing for them as well. In a way, I feel better about the ability to face a changing situation - and make a choice, something which long time readers know is a difficult thing for me.

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This weekend finds me back at The Ranch again for a weekend stay - perhaps my last weekend stay, as everything that was in the house that we did not remove for ourselves is gone in an estate sale and dumpsters - the pictures of the house the real estate agent has posted are jarring.  I have a few items in the Master Bedroom closet I need to pack up and take down to the Barn, the temporary storage location until we move them into storage, which really should happen before the end of the year.

I have still have trips on the books once a month to fly there for a Saturday. I have no idea what there will be for me to do at this point; the realtor is taking care of a lot of things now and with the potential for a client visit at any time, likely the last thing he wants there is a random visitor on the property.  But my friends are still there, and my Aunt and Uncle, and my sister and The Outdoorsman of course, so there is no reason not to keep going. 

But in the back of my mind I now know that there will come a day where there will be one last trip that will be unlike any other, the last time that I will walk that land as someone that belongs there, not someone that is visiting there.  I cannot tell you what that visit will be like, although I suspect it will be a mixture of relief and regret.

And what then? I do not fully know.  I do not know that here in New Home 3.0 is where "home" will be (although I do feel strongly called here).   What I do know is that, perhaps for the first time in a very long time, there will be a sense that "this" really is where I am.

On Receiving An Assessment

The assessment has come back for The Ranch.  

It is not necessarily the end of all the work, but it remained the single largest issue to discuss in settling the estate.  There are loose ends still for sure - one I know about is completing an estimate of the equipment that is there - tractors and so forth - but they will be relatively minor in the course of the whole settlement.

As you might expect, the assessment has gone up in the 18 months since the first one was done - not incredibly (for which I am grateful).  About 4%, which seems right given the current state of things.

On the one hand, it will be nice to have things resolved.  On the other hand, this will introduce a new set of challenges to the life of The Ravishing Mrs. TB and myself.

The biggest, perhaps, is simply how we are going to deal with a property that is not in the state that we live in.  Yes, we have folks there on a daily basis - Uisdean Ruadh of course and The Cowboy and The Young Cowboy - so that is no more a concern than is now, but there are other concerns.  Maintenance on the house of course; these things do not maintain themselves.  Equally as critical, the two major expenses of property taxes and insurance.

There will be a little rental income from The Cabin of course, and that helps - other than insuring that we are keeping enough money for ongoing maintenance there as well (fortunately I have some idea of what that should be on an annual basis.

On the one hand, I admit these are completely first world problems.  On the other, just because they are "first world" does not mean that they are not concerns.

Still, moving this towards resolution has the impact of setting the course of the rest of our life - so in any sense, some resolution is good resolution.

Tuesday Morning 0930

I write this from the comfort of a house warmed with fire as the rains drizzles down outside.  It has drizzled down since around 0230 as I recall; the forecast calls for the same most of the day.

Today is an odd bonus day, the sort of day that only periodically appears:  unplanned, unexpected.  Back at The Ranch, I find myself with almost nothing on my calendar for the day:  some picture selections for the upcoming funeral, a visit with The Director this evening, cleaning for my early morning departure tomorrow.

I have consciously made a decision to temporarily halt any packing or additional moving activities, partially because we will return in about two months for the funeral (and more packing for Na Clann to take things home) and partially pending the settlement of the estate:  any move to rent the house now will wait pending final settlement.  And if we are not going to sell the house, keeping some of the furniture that we might have gotten rid of makes perfectly good sense.  

It also represents a sort of last moment:  after this, all trips here will originate from New Home 2.0, not New Home.  The locus of all originations and returns shifts.

This is now third Spring since my parents left, but life here know nothing of the ultimate arrival and departure of humans.  The cattle slowly move through drizzle, eventually ending up under the cover of trees.  The turkey flock that was in the Upper Meadow this morning migrated back into the forest, their daily rounds curtailed by the wet.  The jack rabbit I surprised in the front of the house this morning fled to the back of the house and down the slope, black tipped ears erect.

The plants, too, are in their awakening mode.  The daffodils so beloved by my mother have erected their heads and are blooming, weighted down this morning by rain drops; behind them the poppies have begun their climb to glory.  The Meadows are themselves turning green as this year's new growth slowly overtops the remaining stems from last year.  The irises, remnants from my maternal grandmother's garden, stand with their leaves sword-straight, waiting for their turn to shine in the sun.

The mist obscures the mountains beyond but they, too, register little of the mortal lives of humans.

I have written before that one of the things that marks a transition between immaturity and maturity is the realization of kairos, those specific called out moments of time which were originally "the right or critical moment" versus chronos, the simple passing of time.  A useful distinction, that: as with many things, Ancient peoples had a way with things that we moderns lack.  

When we are young our world seems to be filled with chronos moments, the passage of time that seems to go on and on. At some point - early for some, later for others - we realize that things end and we had not been conscious of that ending.  Certainly, we recognize some things:  the graduation from our various stages of education, the beginning of a married life (or the end of it), the birth of child, the death of our parents.  But these are hardly the sum total of all the chronos moments:  they exist far more often than we think, often only caught out of our eye as they pass (if we are lucky) or in the rearview mirror of life as we realized the last time we did X or saw Y was many years ago.

This - this day, this time, I suddenly realize - is such a moment.

It is of course not "a moment"; there are still things that need to be done and events that need to occur.  But this time, this day or even series of days and weeks even to the end of the year, represents multiple transition points.  It is the beginning of a change for the ownership of this place and this land, of the assuming of responsibilities and active management in a way I have not done before.  It is the beginning of a new job (well, in less than a week) and the beginning of a new locus of focus in my own life, as New Home 2.0 becomes "home" and New Home becomes a place I have a house and where some of Na Clann and The Ravishing Mrs. TB dwell (for now).  

In a way - even though in some ways this has been true for the last three years - this is the beginning of my life with almost of all of my parent's generation gone in my family. In the cycle of life, we have now assumed the position that they, in turn, inherited from their parents.  

I remember that transition for them.  I can scarcely think of a time I realized the burden would fall to us.

I realize with a start as I write this (12 March), is is birthday of my father.  He has been gone almost two years now.  That seems like forever and yet no time at all.  The moment he left was kairos, the time after has been chronos.  The difference has suddenly never been clearer in my mind.

Sighing, I look outside.  The rain has slowed to a fine mist, a sort of falling haze seems almost as timeliness as this moment, a continuous motion machine as the drops hit the earth and flow down the sidewalk or stems and into the grasses or streams below.  Heaven and Earth seemed joined for a moment in a sheen in which can only detect motion if one closely examines it.

The fire quietly sighs and pops, a reminder of the passing of all things.

On The Estate

 

My sister, The Outdoorsman, and I met with a lawyer yesterday about the settlement of my parents' estate.

For various and sundry reasons, I will (obviously) not be discussing most of the details here publicly - not that there is anything really to hide or secretive, just that with most legal processes I am sure that the less said about them in public, the better.

In general, it appears to be a rather straightforward process - again, many thanks to my parents' who planned so well against this day.  One or two minor paperwork matters and then the settlement of the accounts can begin. 

We will need another appraisal of the property.  This was recommended course of action - not that we do not already have one, but having a second one after the death of the second parent would resolve any potential issues about value. Also, it serves as a good faith effort to make sure the estate is being settled equally, which is just as important.

As before, we have essentially confirmed that my sister is interested in the cash and I am interested in the property.

I am having mixed feelings about all of this.

On the one hand, the fact that we are at this point makes the passing of my parents a very real event.  It is easy for me to segregate their passing in my mind from the reality of their things.  Now, in a very real sense their things are passing - to us - and their memory is what will remain.

On the other hand, there are my own considerations to be made.  There will be an increase of expenses in my own account, as the estate will not cover the ongoing expenses (nor should it after the departure of my parents).  It is good that I have a job again; it does meant that there are additional considerations and planning to made.  

The process was never not going to happen; like many things, we cannot predict when it will start - until it actually does.

A Collapse, A Passing, And The End of Things

(First things first - no post from Seneca (directly) this week.  My apologies as the week has taken turns I did not anticipate.)

One of the surprising things about life to me is that sometimes it imitates art; sometimes, that imitation even seems to precede life itself.

That is a bit of a ridiculous statement to me of course; the idea that somehow art (in my case, fiction) can somehow precede an actual change in life or events is the sort of thing of mystical fantasy, whereby the combination of unique ingredients and the summoning of An Other from The Outer Planes results in small glimpses into the future.

And yet, here we are.

Attentive folks have commented on the fact that Seneca seems to have undergone a change, sometime between setting out for what will go down in whatever annals of history are to be kept as The Battle of McAdams.  It is not a hard thing to write, of course; literature and history are replete with the experiences of those that went out to war and what they were like when the return (Note:  The 1920's called, and they are looking for their Lost Generation).  There are events which change us - and not all bad of course: something as benign as marriage or the birth of a child or graduating with a degree can suddenly set a different course.

When I had accepted the new job (was it only a week ago), my reasoning was sound at the time:  not only did I need a job (big one there), this was a job that had a good package associated with it and the potential for growth and even to end my career there.  It also had the benefit of being much closer to The Ranch and my mother.  The ability to be able to get down to see her had become a a very motivating factor - so motivating, in fact, that I surrendered another job option for it.

Ah, the difference of a week.

Since Monday, I have been re-asking myself the question "Did I really make the right choice?"  It is a fair question, perhaps, given that somehow one of the major things underlying that decision has changed and the decision itself has had its own series of impacts.

It is like this when one moves:  the decision to move is rapidly overtaken by a series of tasks that needs to be accomplished.  It is also overtaken by the fact that streams start to shut down, like bodily systems slowly closing out their appointed tasks on their way to death.

That is happening here of course:  end dates of things that I do here are counting down like clockwork.  The last day of coffee bar at Church is this Sunday, as well as the last formal day at the Rabbit Shelter.  The last day of Produce (A)Isle is the following Thursday, followed by the last Iaijutsu training and a departure lunch.    I leave the next day to go to The Ranch to do a quick sweep and meet with the lawyer about the estate.  

On Thursday, I leave for what is effectively a new life.

It is not a new life all at once, of course; these things never are.  But the locus of attention will have shifted. "New Home" is a place that I may still go back to and visit more frequently at first, but those visits will likely taper off as things move on.  As life, really, moves on.

On the one hand of course, it is a great End.  On the other hand, of course, it is a great Beginning.

It is a great Beginning because effectively, I get to re-create a life from scratch. Yes, there is a dojo there in my style and I will train.  Yes, there are rabbits shelters and I will inevitably find one and volunteer.  But both of those likely will be different days and times and probably involve less time overall. 

While certainly it is a not a "Everything burned to the ground and we are starting over", it is somewhat of a "Choose your own adventure" sort of moment.

Or, having seen a major change, everything downstream now changes.

Seneca, perhaps, is on to something.

The Passing Of Mom: Odds, Ends, And Plannings

 The Day After the Day.  The surreal sense of things is still present, brought on by things mostly outside of my control.

The notifications are mostly done.  I had to call my oldest and youngest (Nighean Gheal and Nighean Dhonn) as they are both out of town.  An awkward thing, especially for someone like myself who is not good at discussing my emotions at the best of times.  It is always a hard conversation, some version of "Hi, how are you, I have not the great news....".  Not a surprise to them either, but not any easier because of that.

I have being stalling on The Great Social Media post until we had a funeral date, which we now do - the middle of  May if you are in the neighborhood of the continental U.S. (offer not good in Alaska and Hawai'i). For someone that writes as much as I do, you would think this would not create quite an issue.  It does, though - both because of the fact that it is (hopefully, and possibly in all likelihood) the last one of these I will have to write for a long time (if ever), and partially because it will be seen by a lot of people that may have a lot of questions I do not have the answer to, like "What did she die from?" or "What happens to The Ranch?" or even just "How are you doing?"

Unfortunately, I have no idea how I am doing, well meaning person that is asking.  You and I both have the same question and concern.

For better or worse (mostly worse) outside of family, there are not many people left to contact - my parents have the same issue many of their generation has of having outlived most of the their peers and interest groups.  One call to their former church, one call to a colleague of my mother's - and that is that.  Likely the funeral service will be even smaller than my father's.  In 1.5 years, that seems like an ominous reduction of people.

Although given that I am moving soon anyway I had not initially planned to there again for a bit, but due to this event, I am headed back out the week of 10 March - mostly to go with my sister and meet with the lawyer and see what the next steps are in settling the estate.  While I do not have a lot of discomfort about this - we must be on some kind of timetable, but not a "We need to get it down right now" timeframe - it still makes me unsettled.  This is yet another change in a year which is already bustling with them, and brings to mind a new round of financial planning and repairs and "well, maybe I do not have to pack everything up" that I find myself suddenly unable to deal with all at once. 

And a funeral speech, of course.  I will have to write one of those - again, hopefully, the last one that I will have write in a very long time, perhaps forever.  Fortunately I have two months.

Knowing me, it will likely take that entire time to write.

The Passing Of Mom

 My mother passed away yesterday.  She managed to just slip past her birthday to 84 years.

Apparently the home she was in called my sister and let her know she had evidenced some problems breathing - and suddenly, she was gone.

I went to see her when I was home two weeks ago.  

In going, I knew she had been having health issues.  On my arrival that week, my sister let me know that she had fallen twice and was essentially unable to walk, even with our assistance - something that was not true 4 months ago.  The home had asked my sister to start buying nutritional drinks for her as she was not eating well; recently she would only take her food pureed. 

My visit this time was no different than they had been in the last few months:  my mother was awake (although just as often in the last few months she was asleep) and staring off into the distance.  She would not make eye contact and may or may not have been aware that I was even there.

I had become used to this, of course.  The first time or two it was disconcerting, but I had simply learned to just talk on.  And so this time - as in months past - I said hi and updated her on how the family was doing, where The Ravishing Mrs. TB was off to and what the grandchildren were up to, and what I was up to.  I finished with telling her I loved her, and was on my way.

I was probably there 5 minutes all told.  Even then, the gauntness of her frame (96 lbs. from a recent medical visit) suggested that that her passing was a very real potential outcome.

Now, suddenly, everything is different.

As Nighean Bhan said about the passing of TB The Elder, it is more of a shock than a surprise - after all, the outcome of Alzheimer's is never in doubt.  And my mother is now herself, as I remember her, united now with her parents and sister and all of her Great-Aunts - and TB The Elder, of course.

In the few months leading up to their moving in 2020 and 2021, every night my mother would offer to rub my father's back on the couch.  It remained the one thing that she apparently felt able to do for my father after all the other things she had done over the years had slipped away with Alzheimer's.  And so, every night, she would sit on the couch and my father would lay down and she would rub his back.  Likely they did so the last night before they moved.

As awful as it sounds, it is a great relief.  My mother can finally get herself back. Her long journey of slowly losing herself is going and, as C.S. Lewis would probably say, she is more herself now than she ever was.  But all of a sudden, this year seems a lot less like a musical coda, where one returns to the previous bars of music to repeat, and more like a transition to an entirely different section of the music.

A Frustrating Day: Follow Up

Since I went to the trouble of posting about my frustrating day this week, I thought a follow on my be in order.

Dryer:  I was unsure if the appointment for the dryer had been "used up", as it were.  That said, I thought I could give it a shot myself (instead of rebooking).  Disassembly of the unit went as InterWeb instructions suggested:  I was able to dismount the back panel, remove the thermostat and connections, and even managed to pull the old element out.  However, I could not get the new element in without significantly bending it.

On a lark, I looked in the appointment calendar.  Nothing said the appointment was complete, so I went ahead and rescheduled the appointment.  The technician - the same guy - showed up late last evening, apologized profusely for the mistake in the addresses (we had a good laugh about it), and completed repairs.  As I write this, a load is running.

Of note, the gentleman is a friend of The Young Cowboy and has a handyman business on the side - and is local.  Good to know your neighbors.

Packing:  At the behest of some very wise thinkers, I completely took Wednesday off and busied myself with other things.  Thursday I re-approached the task, but with the sense of I was only going to do a certain number of boxes.  That continued to grow as I went, and now I am down to likely one or two boxes to pack (I ran out of packing tape, which effectively ended my progress).  

The next stage will be relocating the boxes to the Barn, along with any remaining furniture.

Observation:

On the whole, I felt better about today - not the least of which was another phone interview for the second of the two opportunities that I have going (the first has seemingly disappeared).  The call was left on a positive note; I should be "hearing from the them" by early next week.

This was encouraging on a number of levels.  The first is simply that I may be hearing from someone.  The second is that if this does manifest, I will be within a long drive of The Ranch (also, interestingly enough, of the primary location of The Collapse).  I will also be in the same time zone, so even coming down for a weekend via flights becomes infinitely more doable.

And maybe that was thing that changed everything yesterday (as the interview was in the morning):  somewhat of a sense of hope and progress, instead of feeling trapped and at loose ends.

A Frustrating Day

Even I get off my groove sometimes.

Yesterday was a frustrating day.  No end of the world sorts of things that really just tend to slow accumulate into an escalation of frustration.

The first thing was simply that some recruiters that said they were going to get back to me did not.  This not as uncommon a thing as it might sound like - my experience with most is you are their best friend right up to the point that you are not a viable candidate - but none the less disappointing if, in theory, you are waiting for an update.

While this waiting was going on, there was a second waiting:  waiting for a repairman to show up and complete the repairs on the dryer.  We had identified the problem last month and ordered the part, which showed up while I was in New Home.  I had to set an appointment at the time, and then move it thrice to make sure that it would be while I was present here.  The repair company sent emails 5 days out, 2 days out, 1 day out, and the day off letting me know the service was on.  I even had a window:  1000-1400.

Around 1100 I get a call from Uisdean Ruadh, letting me know the Sears repair guy had showed up at his house.  There was not a dryer problem there, but they did look at the pellet stove.   I checked; sure enough, the correct address was on the work order.  

Usidean Ruadh offered to follow up with a text which I requested he do, but nothing. I will call tomorrow.  Worst case, I have the element and can install it myself. It does aggravate me a bit, as it is relatively clear that no-one actually looked at the work order.

Then, it came to packing.

I am down to the last little bits of packing here, yet somehow it seems to take me longer and longer.  I am the only one packing things out at this point as only my "things" are the ones left; everything else has been gone over.  And to be honest, I find it overwhelming, almost more as the items get less. There is a certain amount of emotional turmoil I cannot fully describe.  Part of it is known to me, of course:  the next step after completing packing is having someone come through and take out everything else.  And, given the current likelihood that whatever job I manage to land will be an "on-site" position, the likelihood of being out on a monthly basis dwindles rapidly.  At this point, I only feel like I can count on one more fully trip in March.

And so, I get inside my head about packing.  

Today I set a goal of packing up the rest of the Franciscan Ware which would complete the kitchen.  That was accomplished as it was a single, easy task with to many things.  The remaining item is now the master closet where all of the things we identified last July are stored.  This are less convenient to pack and in some cases have even a greater pull, as they represent family heirlooms or things that likely only I will know about.

And so, I find myself somewhat stressed and emotionally wrung out.

The last two months - heck, the last year - seem like such a wholesale abrupt change to everything that I thought my life was about.  And, sadly, I do not handle change in the best manner.

On Using A Wood Stove and Independence

 During my stay here at The Ranch, I had a bit of a problem to deal with.  The dryer had gone out.  I had arranged for a visit by the local repairman (Sears seems to be the one in the area).  Sure enough, the heating element was gone and it has not been upgraded like many other parts (I suspected the heating element, but after watching some Tube of You videos, suddenly there were a lot more possibilities).  

The part was ordered.  Sure enough, it was a three day turnaround which might get here but turned out to be a 7 day turnaround (so after the part arrives, I will ask Uisdean Ruadh to open the house up and then lock it back down).  Which meant I had a week's worth of laundry that needed doing before I left

Enter the wood stove.

T-shirts and socks on ironing board; skivvies (not pictured) on hearth

It is not an ideal system of course; things will take a while to dry and likely will be drying until tomorrow.  But it was a ready solution to a problem.

Which got me to thinking about something like the wood stove.

It has a multitude of uses.  It heats the house of course - well, mostly the living room and the office and to a lesser extent, the dining room and the kitchen (bedrooms, you are out of luck).  And I use it to heat water when I am here for tea (ideally if I had a french press, for coffee as well).  When the power went out last year, I used it to make dinner (noodles) and used it just for fun while I was here to make ramen.  And now, I have found another (albeit not completely ideal) use.

It represents independence, the ability to make do for one's self.  As long as there is the stove and a supply of wood (and an occasional chimney sweep), one is not dependent on the larger system for several things.

The drier is a great convenience of course, and I do love the way clothes feel coming straight out of it.  And so is the central heating that we have here.  But I can make do (at least during my visits) without both). 

A useful thing, that wood stove.  But more useful still for what it represents.

It is freedom.

It is freedom from a lot of things.  Freedom from dependence on the power grid.  Freedom from dependence on the company that runs the power grid and the governments (local, state, federal) that are somehow involved with overseeing the power grid.  Freedom from fear in the event of a power failure.  Freedom from freezing at night.  Freedom from being unable to cook anything.

Freedom to roast a marshmallow if I desired as well, I suppose.

It strikes that this freedom, this lack of dependence, is what Our Political And Social Betters (OPASB) hate.  They hate the idea that people can live their lives without oversight.  They hate the fact that people can provide for themselves instead of relying on the social constructs, companies, and government.  They especially hate the fact that those who do such things are not "leaning in" to the idea of centralization but are "leaning out" - sometimes as quickly as they can.

Perhaps, someday, someone will make a flag for the independent lifestyle.  Might I suggest we plant a wood stove in the middle of that?  It is a symbol of both independence and independent living.

Glorious Sunset

 One of the things which are sadly missing to the extent that I could see them at The Ranch are sunsets.  This is no-one's fault really:  for all of the beauty of The Ranch, we are also surrounded by tall trees which does many things.  Blocking the view of the sunset is generally one of them.

(Picture taken this morning of writing, towards where the sunset should be.  One can see the issue.)

Thus, I often miss out on the magnificence of the sunsets here in their full glory.

However, when I am headed down the hill to civilization, it can be a different story:

Sometimes I just get lucky and leave at the right time.  In this case I was so lucky I pressed my luck and drove down a bit to get to pull off to take another picture. I was not disappointed.

I have done nothing to the color of these photos - if anything, they fail to do justice to the full rich range of colors.

The world in all of its glory is there for our viewing, if only we will look.

Antler Fencing

 Yesterday morning when I looked out the back door there was a surprise for me:

And not one, but two:

And then, probably more for their own pleasure than mine, they started fencing:

I think this is first time I have can remember seeing this in such a proximity to the house.

Frozen Wonderland

Driving up to The Ranch after arriving on Saturday, I started to see snow on on the tops of cars.  The Ranch is usually below the average snowline; I was pleasantly surprised to see this when I arrived:

It was much less than an inch and had stopped by my arrival.

The magic happened overnight though, when everything froze:

The snow was gone by the middle of the afternoon, but made for a beautiful arrival gift.

Sunlight breaking over the trees:

 

The views here never get old.

Fantastic Finds Of Fungi

 As I was raking up leaves from the driveway to move the hill, I came across a very small mushroom. 

As I raked more, I came across more:

It turns out that - for some reason - there seems to be a fungi explosion at the Ranch.

As I continued throughout my day, I kept finding them.  I am not sure if they are always this way or I just caught them at the right time, but it was fun walking and seeing all the different varieties.

Funny how often Nature will truly reveal itself, if we will just look.

Experiment: Oak Leaves And Erosion

One of the issues that the hill that my parents' home is built on at the Ranch is some erosion.  Part of it is caused by a resident mole and gopher population that has to go, but part of it is due to the fact that the native grass is not covering everything. 

I have seen this several times and thought "I should do something about that", but have not really done anything - until this visit when, as I was raking up the fallen oak leaves at the base of the driveway and moving them to the side of the road, I thought "I wonder if I could use these for some kind of ground cover?"  The idea, in principle, is taken from Friend-Of-This-Blog Eaton Rapids Joe's fictional series The Cumberland Saga (if you are not reading him, you should be), where the main character's main job is soil erosion mitigation.

If a made up character can do it, perhaps I could take a go at it too.

I essentially raked the wet leaves, shoveled them up into the wheelbarrow, brought them up the hill, and spread them out (you can see the edge of the driveway in the first picture below).

I ran out of leaves before I had completed my task, but the tree is still pretty full and I will take another go at it in three weeks, when I am here again.  Seeding will have to follow up this Spring, but at least it is a start - and I should have pretty real time data on how it is doing.

(One note:  we do not often get the sort of downpours that happen at New Home, so I am hopeful they leaves will be less prone to floating downhill due to gentler rain.)