I’m sitting in our living room, on the north wall, the one right below the trees Anna etched upon the wall, the one across from the wall where three boards from the old barn hang as art. The walls around me are sand yellow, or – rather – “graceful willow” according to the label on the gallon can. The floor is covered in shag carpet with the colors of a different type of sand, the sand of rocky beaches. It is as if this home rose out of the ground, which was our goal. We wanted the interior of this place to speak about the world outside.
What we did not plan for, though, is that there really is no barrier between the outside and inside of our home. Surprisingly, construction terms like “shell” and “insulation” apparently weren’t in use when homes were built in the late 1800’s. I mention that as a way to explain why we have recently killed six mice in three days through the old trick of peanut butter and snap-traps. Those are the most recent invaders. Earlier, it was the lady bugs. Before that, the wasp and flies had their run of the house.
We are doing our best to persist and stake a claim on this land.
A few feet away from me, Anna pulls a needle and thread through the red binding of a modern Christmas quilt. She plunges the metal into the cloth, than pulls it out like a hook from the sea, up towards the ceiling. On the back of the slipper sofa a roll of thread and a pair of Ginger scissors lay awaiting their next job. Slowly, I believe Anna and I are drifting backwards into a time of home economics.
We have no television in this home. There is no internet. Our lone portals into an outside world are as follows : a handheld radio we turn on in the morning occasionally to listen to NPR, Anna’s iPhone, Netflix, and two local newspapers that appear two days out of seven and present a macabre world of local news, celebrity gossip and farmer’s almanacs.
Actually, I lied about the internet. We use the iPhone for that purpose. But, it is internet in need of a technological enema. The cellular reception streams just enough information to keep us on the fringe of society. Anna consults some design blogs. I check sporting news on ESPN. Often I forget to check the weather, uncertain if my light fleece vest will be enough to get me through the day.
We have a few other indulgences. We eagerly await the arrival of a Netflix movie to our mailbox, connecting us to art and cinema in ways we could not otherwise unless we drove all the way to the north side of Indy.
Sometimes, though, that is precisely what we have to do – like the days we travel the fifty miles or so to the nearest Trader Joe’s, stocking up on necessities and luxury items, returning home like old farm families from the market.
The last time Anna went, she spent just over $230. We both were aghast. We admonished ourselves for the expense, but then we looked again at the five bags sitting in our kitchen, stuffed full of whole wheat flour, extra virgin olive oil, marinara, havarti and parmesan cheeses, full pound bars of milk chocolate with almonds, and several bottles of Honey Moon Viogner to stash for dinner guests (or, more likely, for those days when our children’s screams reverberate off the walls for far too long).
Forgive us our indulgences as we forgive yours.
But, really, the luxuries are not much. Consciously or by necessity, we have chosen to live a fairly meager existence these days. This farm home is just over a thousand square feet, which is neither large nor small. There is one bathroom, nicely redone, but nothing lavish. The wind howls through the old windows on cold nights like this one, just as it does through the wooden boards layered up the body of this old farmhouse.
I have about finished the painting of the exterior. Unfortunately, I likely will not finish the remainder before spring. The burgundy trim only extends to a height of fifteen feet where it abruptly ends. The ladder extended no further, and even then I was becoming uncomfortable with the flimsy aluminum and the great height.
Besides, in recent months, my attention has turned to another chore: collecting wood for the winter. Two months ago, I had an old Paulson saw repaired at Humphrey’s Outdoor Equipment store on the north end of 231. They flushed out all the fluids, replaced the fuel line, put on a new bar and chain and got it churning again. I was well on my way to local heat, gathered from the fallen timber to extend my father-in-law’s runway. Then the engine shuddered and froze upon itself.
I put the lifeless saw back up in the blue shed. Two days later I was back at Humphrey’s. I picked out a Stihl Farmboss, a carrying case, and a new chain. Total cost: just over $380, which seemed just as damaging as the groceries. But, the investment in the saw has quickly proven worth it. The boss starts easily, and churns through logs. Plus, it is an investment, or so I rationalized as I took out my debit card to pay for it. $380, would – in fact – quickly be returned in the decrease in gas costs. Sure enough, the gas bill arrived this week. The cost was a pleasing $0, and at the bottom the service man noted that he saw the smoke coming from our outdoor wood-burning furnace. Said he would check back in come spring.
Now the leaves have all fallen from the tree. Life itself won’t be back until the spring. For the world has gone quiet and hushed, into the winter season. I have learned a lot, with a lot more to learn.
~Wes
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