Wednesday was my last day at the farm. Breezy Willow Farm, that is.
It was the perfect day – cool and beautiful. Even feeling under the weather, it was so calming to put in a few hours of hard labor behind the carder. I will miss the beautiful location, the frenetic farm action, the smell of earth and animal, and of course the overabundance of fresh produce. In this picture you see only a place, which I will miss, but the people make it what it is. I am glad we are still connected through wool, and that I’ll see them again.
Today is our last trip to church. St. Timothy’s Church, that is.
Church is never as ideal as we, for some reason, think it ought to be. It is full of real human people with real problems, and it takes time and effort to really become part of a community and do what you can to make it less broken, or at least to in its brokenness point more to Christ. In this picture you see only a building, but the people are what make it a church. It is hard to leave a place where you are so deeply cared for as we are here. I am glad we are still connected through our faith and denomination, and that we will be returning to the area for visits.
Friday was my last day at the shop. Cloverhill Yarn Shop, that is.
I think all of the time I got to spend here is one of the things I will miss most. I am cool with my weirdness, and can accept the fact that it is unusual for wool to be as much a part of my life as it is. But it is a total gift to get to spend large chunks of time with people who totally get it, who allow you to be completely yourself with no excuses, no extra self-esteem necessary, because they are at least as nuts in more or less the same way. In this picture you see only yarn, but it’s those accepting people who make it what it is. I am glad we are still connected through the yarn business, and that Christmas and the Sheep & Wool Festival will cause our paths to cross regularly.
Tonight is our last night in our home.
There are no words for how much this home has meant to us. I was hesitant to move to a new place for only four and a half months, but the place was perfect. We slid into it like a glove; it fit exactly to our needs and adapted to our lifestyle.
And there is so much intense joy and sadness packed into these few square feet. Life during these short months has changed me so much that I find myself feeling like I’ve always lived here. In this picture you see only a door, but behind that door are two tiny lives that changed our lives forever. The sadness of leaving them behind is so strong that it is odd to acknowledge how glad I am to have been here, and for everything that happened here. As sad as I am to have lost them, I don’t wish they had never been.
These people and places – farm, church, shop, work, home – these are what our lives have been chiefly composed of for the past two years and change. Even with the things we are more ready to leave behind, I look at them and think, “This is my life. But I’m walking away, and it isn’t going to be my life anymore.” It’s a momentarily airborne feeling of adrenaline, fear, and excitement completely indistinguishable from each other. You know that feeling – it’s the moment you have to turn your face toward the unknown, which as you step into it is just a blurry imagination. Then comes the long wait for that image to resolve into a new life.
Tomorrow morning we ship out. Look for a report in a few days, after all has been relocated. Chances are good that you will be at least as surprised as we will with whatever happens next…