September 2013 - Tropical September

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One last chance at summer: a steamy morning, sung in by an insect crescendo. One last chance to swim, run barefoot through grass, and enjoy the shelter of green leaves. We had threats of frost a few nights ago and the frost will soon return to stay. But for one more day, like the last rally of lucidity in a death-bound creature, this summer is ours to love and hold.

Our little “wheel of the year” calendar, a kids craft project from Summer 2012, has spun around nearly one full rotation since I last updated this blog. The little arrow in the middle slid past Thanksgiving, sheep breeding, Chanukah and Christmas, maple syrup time, lambing, chick hatching, strawberry time and then blueberry time, landing squarely back on apples. Nowhere in those months did I find time to sit and write, the longest stretch I’ve ever gone.  I try to reckon what has changed since I last blinked. Like the view from a car, those things farthest from us (the world’s many quagmires) seem to be moving slowly, while the things close at hand (bills, birthday parties) are whipping by.

An account of what has changed in one year:

The kids are both a foot taller, while we are greyer. Zora has started coming home on the school bus. Jonah can play guitar and is making new friends more easily.  I began performing fiddle in a band, which corresponds roughly with when I stopped having time to write. Zach is self-employed. The barn and the love shack (re-named “Carmen,” after its most frequent occupant) both have a new roof. We have 25 poultry, 10 sheep, and our biggest garden yet. The bedrooms finally have proper window treatments. There is a “blob” pool in the yard. Our northeast corner has been logged free of gnarly pines, leaving room for the oaks.  And the two new bee hives in our yard brought us apples for the first time, making this a particularly sweet Rosh Hashanah.

For much of the year I have been considering how to spend less time “doing” and more time just “hanging out.” In the summer we had wonderful visits from friends and family. But in the colder months, few visitors come to Maine and I can’t help but ponder our relative isolation. So does my sociable daughter. Over the winter holiday, riding in the car with my sister and her boyfriend, Zora chirped from the back seat:

“When I am grown-up and I want to get married, I will just go sit on my lawn - on the edge of the lawn - and wait until I find someone to marry.”

The major flaw in Zora’s plan is that our lawn can’t even be seen from the road. To actually meet someone, Zora would have to go all the way down to the edge of our property.  Near one corner is a little white church; she could possibly hang out in the parking lot. Our other edges, which border a horse pasture and a swamp, don’t offer any hope of social engagement except perhaps with a passing Turkey hunter. We bought our house from a short person who relished its privacy; our neighbor says he never saw the house’s elusive occupant, and that when he looked out to see who was driving the snow blower, it appeared to be driving itself around in a haze of snow. Even earlier, the place was a B&B frequented by wealthy escapists who landed and departed by helicopter.  So I told Zora that that is probably her best shot: wait until her true love lands in the sheep pasture. Hopefully that will hold things off for awhile. I can’t even take her to the grocery store without her charming the checker.

After a year of considering our isolation, dreaming of Ikaria (a Greek island written up in the New Yorker where people live long, sociable lives), and envying Ithaca’s Porchfest (http://www.porchfest.org/), I couldn’t have been happier when some friends announced that they are planning a monthly “winterjam.” The event will take place in their barn, which is situated in the middle of our town’s small downtown area. Kids can come, people can dance, and anyone can play. I now feel absolutely sure we moved to the right place. Between that, finding a spiritual home, joining a band, and having recently connected with the wonderful lady who runs a local food pantry (finally we have a good place to volunteer as a family), Click! Click! The remaining tetris pieces in our East Coast life are falling into place.  One major piece we now have to reposition is Zach’s work. Can a solar guy make it on his own in the North country? Tune in to the next episode of “Zach and the Nobel Farm Pirates” to find out.