Well that was hard. Seriously. And I don't even mean in an emotional way, although there was some of that too. I mean hard in the particular way I remember swimming the 200 meter butterfly was hard: you'd start out all graceful and full of energy but in the back of your mind you'd know that by the time you hit the eighth lap your form would look like shit and you'd be cursing your coach for making you swim that race in the first place and then by the time you hit the wall you were fuck-all dead tired beyond caring. B and I are a sort of annoyingly can-do duo of enthusiasm when it comes to things like moving, but people: I think that the birth of our first child has taken a gear out of our drive. To say that we were whupped by the time we packed our stuff, moved our stuff, cleaned the old place, and then unpacked aforementioned stuff would be an extreme understatement.
Am I allowed to say that leaving our urban farm was both wrenching and really easy? I have always moved a lot. I find it painful and laborious, and frankly there are few spaces sadder to me than the very moment when everything you own is in a truck and there you are barreling down some highway, but nonetheless the process is a longstanding part of my own efforts to jack myself out of the ruts of life's inevitable inertia trajectories. B and I were stunningly happy in that house. I got to do a lot of things there that had previously only existed on my wish list and now I know what B and I can do to a big patch of grass and a very dingy little box. Our physical life there has been a big part of my identity for the last many years; I am a very good librarian, but I think it's my way with plants that makes me the more useful human. It's really weird to me that we're not growing anything right now, but we've already got our eye on some grass down the road, and I'll be honest and say that in this fourteen (14!) degree weather I'm actually kind of relieved to not be out there hooping and unhooping our greens.
And where we are now? People, it is worth it. I walk through the woods to work. The boys visit regularly and I head home for lunch tickles and hikes and tunes with the husband. My kid's backyard is now hundreds of acres of forest, farmland, and pasture. We live 30 yards from another baby whose age is still measured in months. We live 35 yards away from two kicking musicians who also love food. It was a huge decision for us and I think we did ok.
So, you know, there might be an absence of vegetable photographs here for a while, but I know they'll be back eventually. We mostly chew on the baby these days anyway. He, in turn, chews on everything:
Smooches on you all.