Well, Covid-19 has seen the world changed a bit since my last blog, but more locally, our world is changing too.
Specifically, this is the last week we will own the beautiful piece of history we have called "Cowfeathers Farm".
I have been able to ignore this, mostly, while still spending weeks now packing up our things. Yet, mostly during the night, I will get little flashes of panic; what do I do about our measuring jamb? You know, the door trim where the little pencil ticks that mark the sweet little heights of our babies as they grew- the smallest one being our Youngest in August 2004. He now is half a head height taller than I. What about mementos of the farm itself? I have my memories and photos, and lots of it's nature, nests made with the wool of our sheep and the tails of our horses, pine cones big and small from the row of trees planted 25 years ago to block a neighbors farm light, bits of hardware and arrowheads spit up from the earth where they once were dropped, then buried. It has to be enough as we were not the first here, and thankfully will not be the last.
Both the permanence and impermanence has been in my heart all along. I often thought I would never leave this house, and would be lucky to dig a hole and fall in it when I was good and ready. Of course that is nonsensical, as I expect I would be well past digging a hole if I was ready to fall in it. Still, that was there. Also, always present was the idea of our stewardship of the now. Cowfeathers will soon be 200 years old, and over that lifetime has been both abominably neglected and exquisitely loved. While packing, I came across the photos of it when it was a cow byre and raccoon refuge. A splintered front door, and skeleton of the front porch that had been added and then removed by time was the sad greeting presented to the world. The barn was worn out, with doors gone or hanging off, and a pronounced lean. The property was most unloved. But that was all redeemed, reclaimed and adopted anew in the 1980s when a young, ambitious and historically minded young couple purchased the home and started a renaissance. We have continued that rebirth, and the knowledge that we were the present caretakers, but were heavily responsible for handing it on to someone one day, with hopes they would care as much, governed all choices of landscape, improvement or change. I understand, of course, I have no say in what happens here after it is sold to the next custodians. But, I hope the choices we have made show the care in each choice and it follows.
I fondly remember the day, many years ago, maybe 2008? when we were hosting a big party as we enjoy, with my large dining table laden with food and the home festively decorated, maybe it was a New Years Day party? I was in the kitchen, refilling a punch bowl, or cider keg, and one of our guests came to me and said there was a woman here, in the front room, who says she used to live here. She was of the family that purchased the farm after it had been brought back to life and from whom we had taken over as guardians. It was the first, and only visit by that previous owner, and I totally understand. I would love to drive down the Cowfeathers lane one day, and find it crowded with guest's cars, and enter the warm house bursting with the chatter of friends and families with a table groaning from too many sweets, plates and glasses everywhere. I, too, may never again return, but choose to hold that instead in my heart.
And that brings me to the thing I must ignore most. Leaving this place that has seen so much of our lives, the raising of our children, and the making of friendships I can't imagine being without. I get lightheaded with shallow breaths thinking about this, and tell myself "the world is so small now, you will be in constant touch." Or, one of my favorite litanies " It is only 6 1/2 hours, and easy to find, and there is so much to see and do, and it is so beautiful my friends will all come visit.....and they can bring horses if they want." Although, my history shows this is, perhaps, wishful thinking, as we moved here 20 years ago from Oklahoma, and have hosted Oklahoma friends but rarely. Twice? BUT! Oklahoma is much farther than 6 hours. AND, I don't know many who consider central Ohio a vacation destination. AND during those 20 years most of my friends were also raising munchkins, so traveling to hang out with friends instead of grandparents, or Walt, or the beach, well, it just isn't a thing. Do you see what I'm doing here? Lots of reasons to hope for visitors. We will have room, and mountains, and rivers, and wineries.
So, from Cowfeathers Farm to Foxcroft Farm. (Do you see what has happened? Foxcroft Farm has been thusly named for a long time, we did not choose it, but we are moving from CFF to FCF.) Ohio to Virginia. I will blog about the new when I have taken sufficient time to grieve the present and figure out what to do about the treasured door jamb.
