CHAPTER 1
I stood in the midst of my dream with the April sun shining on my face. My dream surrounded me in all its glory; it was the result of years of work and sacrifice. Those bygone years should have been the best of my life. I had spent them all working for this. Here it was at last, and all I could feel was anger.
The moving van had just negotiated the turn from my long lane onto the main road, its rumble deepening as the driver accelerated, shifted, and accelerated again. I pivoted and surveyed my kingdom, including the hay barn, the stables, the fenced pastures, and the fields beyond. The old farmhouse had extensions added, the interior remodeled, and new vinyl siding coated its outer walls. There was a new three-car garage topped with a furnished apartment and outbuildings that still needed to be painted. I had worked so hard for it, and now that I had it, my overweight, aching body chided that I would not be able to enjoy it.
I turned, hobbled toward the hay barn and, opened wide the sliding door on its track. It was just a pole building with a plank floor covered in skids that would keep the hay dry. Three loads of grass hay would arrive tomorrow and would take most of the day to fill half of the building. The other half would be partially filled with oat straw the following week. Hopefully, this would be the only year I'd have to purchase these commodities. I had high hopes that my farm would be self-sufficient by next spring.
It was a warm day, so I left the door open to air out the building. I turned toward the stables. The newly laid, fine gravel made walking harder and exacerbated the pain in my arthritic knees and back. The sliding doors were already open, enticing the musty smell, mold, and dust from yesterday's cleaning to ride away on the occasional breeze. The tractor and manure spreader were still parked at the lower end of the cemented aisle. I was pleased that the previous owners had put in good, solid stalls. There were twelve in all. If I ever needed to, I could lease out a few.
I couldn't help but stand just outside what would be the grain room at the head of the aisle to visualize the horses that would stand at their stall guards, looking my way expectantly. I longed for the smells of horse, hay, and grain to fill the air. Someday, and soon I hoped, many of these stalls would be occupied.
I struggled to the huge arena next. Each span of beams was reinforced with two-by-fours forming triangles across the vaulted ceiling to provide extraordinary strength. No amount of snow would collapse that roof. I would have guaranteed year-round riding.
I snorted in disgust. I've been on my feet too long, I mused. It was affecting my brain. My lower back was screaming in pain, and I was starting to grit my teeth. If I couldn't do a little work, how would I be able to ride? I sat in a chair in an enclosed observation area to let the discomfort abate and then tried to walk as though no pain dogged my steps all the way to the house.
I took pleasure in the plush carpeting throughout the house as well as the color schemes overflowing from one room into the next, leading me from one garden of hues and tones to another.
I was a bit sad that it wasn't cooler so I could light a fire in the pit in the great room or even the fireplace in the living room. I consoled myself that there might yet be a cool spell for creating an entrancing fire. My analytic mind questioned, What will you do with such cozy comforts in such a large house all alone?
I can entertain, I countered.
Who, pray tell? You have no friends.
I stood stunned with that realization, and then it shook my insides to be so alone. My buildings were still empty. The house was newly occupied by me and did not quite feel like home. Today was my first day of retirement. What do I do with myself? There was no one to call and no one to come celebrate with. A partially painted canvas was on the easel, but I wasn't in the mood to paint or write. I had been waiting for this point in time for years. Here it was at last, and I felt powerless to grasp it. I had never needed people before. They had never fit into my dream. Why did I think I needed them now? Because that was an awful lot to not share.
Easy does it, I crooned to myself. You knew it would take time to shift gears. Enjoy now. You have plenty of time. Learn to walk slowly and smell the flowers again.
I walked through the newly added part of the house that had been attached to the rear of the original farmhouse. The great room was the middle portion beneath the peaked roof. Sticking out the west side of that was an exercise room with large windows facing the back acres. I felt light-headed as I realized that it was created for someone who expected to spend a lot of time alone. Past the equipment and into a smaller room was a small pool with flowing current big enough for one. It had two walls of windows, one to the west and the other also facing the backyard, which was north. On the east of the great room was a greenhouse where I hoped to grow vegetables for the table during the winter months. As a buffer between the greenhouse and the great room was a small washroom where I could wash the vegetables and rinse the soil from my hands and leave my work boots so I didn't track unnecessary dirt into the house.
French doors led off the great room onto a patio and about an acre of land surrounded by a four-foot chain-link fence. I paused to admire the huge planters on the patio containing magnolia and yew and then shifted my gaze to the yard beyond, where spaced about were white dogwood, redbud, and crab apple trees. There were lilac bushes, ornamental grasses, and areas of sedum or ivy as ground cover. In spots of shade or full sun, benches of wrought iron, redwood, or resin sat at convenient spots for watching the birds that utilized what I had painstakingly provided for them, thinking natural would be better than feeders. I made my way to the first redwood, which was actually a swing, to try to shift gears by gazing at the spring beauty.
Along the side edges of the yard, on the other side of the fence, were shrubs that would provide shelter as well as seeds or berries for the wintering birds, hopefully, so they would leave my own blackberries and cherries alone, which were beyond the back fence, just before the orchard of apples, peaches, pears, and red plums.
I gently pushed off to set the swing into motion and watched the birds madly building nests or feeding their first brood of young. Two shepherd hooks stood a short distance away, holding suet cages. I smiled at the "natural" rule already broken. I'd provide for them only in early spring and winter, I reasoned. They'd provide lots of energy for the frantic, aerial activity all around me. The birds were frightened of my nearness, scowling and scolding from perches near and far before flying away to look for other sources of food. I expected their reaction but hoped that at a near-future point in time, my presence wouldn't frighten them, that they would see me as a benefactor, and that they would know that I had planted the serviceberry, verbena, and burning bush, pampas grass, and yarrow for their benefit.
I thought I saw a flash of blue a half acre away near the bluebird box and rued the fact that I had not brought my field glasses. I refused to go get them. It was enough knowing the box would be used.
I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the sun. With the birds singing backup, I let the warmth coax...
