August brings the anniversary of a personal milestone that generally goes unremarked. I've now lived in this same spot for thirty-five years - definitely more than half my life. It's almost two-thirds of my life, but I shall drop that thought and move on.
Back in 1980, when my grandparents gifted me with three acres of land, it was completely wooded. I worked alongside grandfather, father, and then husband to clear an acre to drill a well, install a septic system, and build a house. It was hard, physical work and I regret none of it.
|Two-story dog trot log cabin.|
I had a vision of a log cabin in the woods, but those people in my life at that time overruled me. That I do regret. I wanted - I still want - a log cabin. Specifically, I want a dog trot styled log cabin, or house, with its central breezeway, but I must be realistic. It's not something I'm likely to acquire at this point in my life.
It's not that my little house in the woods isn't sufficient. It is. In many ways, it has shaped my lifestyle and I have few complaints about that. I have all that I truly need here. The house is easy to heat, cool and clean. The mechanical systems have been well maintained. My property is secluded and private, which makes it rather safe against some of the things that can happen in the world. If you're not visible, you're not a target. I think my grandparents knew that, which is why their only granddaughter got this particular piece of ground. My male cousins are subject to every manner of annoyances living beside a road.
Which finally brings me to the unchanging view from my office window.
My home office is my favorite room in the house. It's me. There was no compromise on wall color, flooring, rug, furniture and its placements, lighting, curtains and artwork. I spin stories in this room, travel via the wonders of the Internet, and I read and learn in this room. I share my innermost thoughts from this room. And yet I gaze out at the lush green of my backyard (so very green for the end of August!) and for the first time question is this all there is to see for the next thirty years?
They say identifying a problem is the first step in solving the problem. My father and grandparents are gone, and soon so shall be my mother. My retirement income will follow me wherever I live. My husband of over twenty years would welcome a place that is his in ways this property never has been, its history being that of my family. There's nothing to hold me here if I choose to let go of roots and begin a new adventure elsewhere.
Except, that is, the view through my window.
Coming soon: Where There's Smoke by KC Kendricks
Part of the Men of Marionville collection