Tuesday, February 21, 2006

phasing into transition

I am very excited to be moving, and soon. When I think about having adequate space, a real kitchen, a yard with grass (instead of dirt), and a chance to garden again, my heart simply leaps with joy. And yet, when I look out the windows of the cabin where I live now, watch the chickens scratching through the leaves for bugs and such, listen to the hooves of the goats as they land on the overturned metal hull of the boat that serves as their “pinnacle,” and revel in the brilliance of the night sky out here away from city lights, I feel a certain sadness. This is certainly not the best place for me to live, but aspects of this life have also fed my soul.

Is it possible to have it all? To have spaciousness and also a neighborhood? To enjoy the solitude of living in the woods and still have access to a decent grocery store? There probably is (I think of Danville, VT, where Gail lives, though she also knows about the paucity of shopping!). Maybe it’s just been a case of bad timing for me, in this place. I love my immediate neighbors, who also wear hats as landlords, and my doctor. It’s a treat to get fresh eggs, fresh tomatoes, and other spoils from their garden. It was a stitch to learn how to milk a goat, and to share laughs over the antics of our animals, as well as our various human shenanigans and exploits. It’s been fun to watch Maggie grow toward adulthood while still running barefoot through the yard, and to bring Elizabeth dirt from assorted destinations on our travels (yes, dirt—she collects dirt).

All the same, it is time to move on. I will treasure these memories, these friendships, the knowledge that I can milk a goat and feel safe out here in the remote, dark woods. They have satisfied a part of my soul that I didn’t know had a longing, and perhaps they will shape the journey I take further on down the road. It is the nature of change for the experience to be bittersweet.

I will savor these last days, and when it comes time to take my leave it will be with gratitude for the opportunity to lay my head in this place, to watch the leaves fall and listen to the early morning call of the roosters, to have a place to call home and feel that is has been just that.

I’m a lucky girl.

3 comments:

samtzmom said...

What lovely reflections... indeed, we take away good things from each phase of our lives, yet we know that we are led to continue to grow and open ourselves up to new roads. I suppose there are always going to be trade offs, but I'll bet you'll find just as many lovely things about your new home once you are settled in. The memories of the mountain will always be in the fabric of your being and you'll always be able to think of them and smile.

Ruth said...

That is so beautiful Anne. I think I may understand what you mean by feeding the soul in a place of solitude, peace and safety where the stars shine brighter and the night is so quiet except for the noises of the animals. I lived on a remote cattle station in far north queensland for over two years and that is how I felt. Not really wanting to loose that privacy and trees (how I loved the trees) but having to move on. I did find somewhere in outer suburbia which, from the windows, I could look upon park land and trees (I loved the trees). I needed the time out bush but I needed to come back to a life like this one. Beautiful memories and feelings quite similar to your own.

Pam in Moncton said...

That was so beautifully written. I hope that you will keep these words and these memories. Good to take away all these bits and pieces of your life on the mountain as you start your new stage in town.
Pam

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