A Season of Quiet

At the end there is a season of quiet.

There is no way around the fact that this is an ending. We sold the last beehive this past Saturday and the only livestock we are left with are the chickens. (On a side note, we still have 8 of the original 10 chicks we bought at the feed store two years ago. I think that’s got to be some kind of record! Haha.)

The last three geese went home with a nice gentlemen from Bellevue two Saturdays ago. He also bought five dozen eggs, our one and only egg sale – go figure. I’ve started selling my tractor implements and a nice man from nearby gave me $500 earnest money toward the purchase of my haying setup. We also have a realtor coming for an initial look at the property this Saturday.

It’s tempting to be sad. And I am a little but not in a distressing way. It’s hard to explain. Even though, one way or another, we will be leaving this place, the spirit of this life will continue.

Our immediate plans – don’t laugh! – are to move into an RV in a local park and put any money we clear on this place in the bank for a future purchase. Okay you can laugh a little but we do have a reason for this plan. Barring some super, drastic change at my place of employment I cannot continue to work there. It’s just too chaotic and oppressive. I don’t wish to separate from the company so we will have to relocate. Selling the house now removes a big source of stress and increases our flexibility to pursue opportunities at other sites. When the opening that we need comes along we will be ready to go.

Or perhaps I will separate from the company and begin an entirely new career, who knows? But that is a possibility and not the plan.

I have to tell you that along with the sadness of letting go there comes a little peace as well. I am actually looking forward to the quiet time ahead to reflect and see how I can carry the myriad things I’ve learned over the last two years into the future. Things that I have always wanted to do are no longer a mystery. I know what it takes to keep bees. I know what it takes to keep chickens. I’ve started an asparagus bed and planted fruit trees. I know what it takes to keep a cow and that keeping a cow is no longer an option (and that’s okay). I also know better now what my limits are, physically and mentally. I know more about how much I’m willing to sacrifice and not sacrifice.

These are not small things to know and all hard won. They are just as important as physical tools and perhaps more durable.

I guess that’s it for now. Peace.


3 thoughts on “A Season of Quiet

  1. Joesph Shore-Goss

    I have followed your blog for sometime found searching for weaving info…I have enjoyed your ups and downs and have envied your life on the farm. I hope you keep the blog up as your adventure takes you down new paths.

  2. “Lost in America?” (If you haven’t seen it, check it out–but only if you’re in the mood for a dark comedy.)

    Now is not a bad time for consolidation, for scaling your dreams to your realities, especially knowing that you can scale the things you now have under your belt into whatever form the future finds for you. It’s a time to share away the big questions, individually and with each other, “Just what do I want to do when I grow up?” But it sounds like your doing that already.

    Maybe it’s time to review your blog, and consider a memoir–along the lines of “Maybe it was the cow allergy that broke the camel’s back, but once it was broke, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put it together again.”

    And mostly, best of luck, wherever this takes you.

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