This Place…

This place…It’s not easy, that’s for sure. There are trees to be cleared–thorny honey locusts, tenacious and self-propagating, hard as nails with spikes like talons twining every trunk and limb. If you do manage to chop one down you’ll most likely suffer for it, it’s branches reaching as it falls as if hungry for one last stab. Burns so hot you can’t get near it–if the devil were a tree I think he’d be a honey locust.

There’s the mowing–acres and acres of it. And if being bounced and jarred for hours on end in blistering heat weren’t enough, there are the low-hanging branches on the thousand or so trees we’ve yet to trim. The ones that tear at my hair and snag my headphones right off, slinging them toward the blades with evil intent.

And the garden. Google “how to plant your first garden” and you’ll be told, firmly and repeatedly, to start small. Then, if you’re like us, you will completely ignore that instruction. Not on purpose, of course–what fool would do that? But 25′ by 75′ is a very small piece of 14 acres, right? And who doesn’t need thirty-seven tomato plants?? And no, we don’t have water yet, but there’s the pond! Buy a couple of big water jugs and hey, presto! water for the garden. Just hoof it down to the pond with said jugs, lay on your belly on the dock and fill them up, lift said jugs–now weighing about 60 pounds each–out of the water, onto the dock, and up the hill to the garden. Fill smaller jugs from big jugs and water the garden. Repeat (x6-8). At this point, “hey, presto!” becomes something much less polite.

There are cattails to cut and duckweed to rake out of the pond. And the critters. So far the raccoons have invaded the coop (no chickens yet, just storage) and torn through bags of birdseed and dog food and anything else we’ve foolishly left unpadlocked. They removed one of the bird feeders entirely (it was wired inside a metal torchiere). I found it eventually–a few hundred yards away and hidden under a tree. I found it while fighting the branches for my headphones and the deep desire to curse. We see deer and turkeys daily, and a host of others regularly–rabbits and snakes, frogs and turtles, the occasional bobcat. The last rabbit I saw was only a backbone and a few tufts of fur. Coyote? There are hawks and owls, a great blue heron and the ever-present turkey vultures. We are not alone.

So what is it about this place? All of that–every single bit. And so much more. It’s tiny wildflowers and heavy-headed sunflowers growing brave beneath the feeders. It’s songbirds and hummers and visiting ducks, floating all serene with ducklings in a row. It’s the caress of a breeze and a crackling fire and the sound of laughter. It is wild and beautiful, intimidating and welcoming, alive with promise.