Work

I haven't written much this visit home. It's been largely work. When I got here, I spent a week cleaning the parts of the house I would use. I became tired, lonely and anxious.  The weather was generally cold and rainey which limited gardening which I like to do. I have to bless my mother and those who lived here before I lived here. Even if I couldn't garden, there were purple hycathin in the long spring grass. Then there were lilacs, bushes so old and big, someone long ago must have liked lilacs. Probably a women. Bless her. Then there is a cloud of allium migrating from the bed where my mother planted them. Now I have Lily-of the-Valley. Thanks Mom.
The whole time, I've been finding and dealing with repair people which is not pleasant. And there is always money to manage. My farm budget is so tight. I'm concerned to make sure I can pay the oppressive property tax this summer. I don't belive I can afford to come back for my family reunion this summer which I long to do. I'm only complaining l little.

Neighbors

Yesterday, a smiling young man knocked on my back door. He had a red curly beard and mustache,
He shook my hand , and introduced himself has Adam. Honest. He told me that he, his wife, and two youg daughters lived in a house hidden in the woods on the south side of my farm. He said they had wondered about me for awhile. He asked me if I had given permission to hunt on my farm. I told him I hadn't posted it forbidden. Like all the farmer abound here, we dislike it when tthe deer roll around on the crops and smash them, so I was of two minds. He said he had seen hunters chimbing over my fence between our farms. I told him to post it forbidden if he liked. He was worried that a stray bullet mind strike one of his daughters. Actually, I often worried in hunting season when the guns were close that I might be hit while working in the yard. I'm on the fence about this risk. I invited him in and we talked a little about our families and the age of my farmhouse. He said he and his daughters were picking mushrooms in the woods. Today he appeared and asked I would like some mushrooms. This is just how neighbors are around here. I'm always embarrassed that I have nothing to give in return. My parents always has fresh product from the garden or canned jam my father made. He prided himself on his jam and jelly skills which was well deserved. It just hit me now that I should can marmalade from my fruit trees in Florida and bring it here to use for that propose. Any way, a digression there. He offered to go bring mushroom. I ventured to ask if he was experience at picking wild mushroom. He said he was. His father had taught him. I reminded him of the old expression: There are bold pickers, and there are old pickers, but there are no old, bold pickers. He left me his name and his families names and a phone number in case I needed help with anything. Off he went. Will he return with mushrooms. Probably. Will I dare to eat them. They might taste wonderful and I would have missed a chance to taste them. The other possibility is unthinkable. Would you eat them?

Silence

When I arriveed to the farm, the utilities were a mess as usual. A fuse blew in the breaker box cutting off heat and water. An electrician fixed that but says the box is old and should be replaced - over a thousand dollars! It will have to struggle on for a while. Next, I discovered that the internet wasn't working. I spent hours talking with teks who gave up and scheduled a crew to come out next week. I haven't had my Dish service turned on because I had hoped to use sling player, so I could cancel Dish to save money. Fixing up the farm is proving to be quite costly. So. From Friday to Tuesday I had no internet or television. I would have told you that I wouldn't miss it- but no. The silence in the farmhouse was very stressful. Outside was cold and rainy, so I couldn't get outdoors much even to hear the birds and rustling leaves. Each morning, I got up, had breakfast, then began cleaning and fixing things. Occasionally I sat down, but once I caught my breath, there was nothing to do, so I would get up and work some more. I must say it was a lesson on how much time I waste watching tv.
Still, I was feeling very anxious by Sunday night. Fortunately it was chilly enough for me to use the fireplace. Watching the flames leap and the logs crackle was extremely comforting. I wound the clock, so the ticking is cheerful. Now with the internet I can connect with friends and write this blog. The sling player is working occasionally, but not enough on which I can depend, so now I have to decide if I can get along without tv. Could you?

Train whistles in the night

I'm in the train station, waiting. I love trains. As a Midwestern child, if I heard a train whistle in the distance at night, it made me dream of all the places I might go some day. Edna Vincent Millet said in a poems that she never heard a train that she didn't want to get on, or words to that effect. Now when I hear a train whistle I think of my beloved Dad. He grow up on a hill farm in southern Ohio.  He told me that when ever a train came along the nearby tracks, all the boys from neighboring farms would stop what they were doing and run to watch the train. I suppose they dreamed of traveling to wonderful places. My Dad knew the names of all the train lines that came through although most of them have probably changed by now.
The drive from my Florida home to here was tedious. I had to drive through the Disney traffic and then through downtown Orlando. It made me realize how much I was looking forward to the peace of the farn. I can't wait to walk through the long spring grass of the yard and see which of my flowers are blooming. The only sounds will be from the birds singing, leaves rustling in the breeze, an occasion passing car or a distant dog barking. Bliss.