An old house with history and character. And a harvest kitchen. A big fireplace. A root cellar.
A big front porch with rocking chairs and a pretty view of mountains in the distance.
Shelves filled with jars of jewel-toned summer tomatoes and home-grown pears. Pickled green beans and tart jam.
An acre of my own.
Maybe two. Then I can share the bounty.
Work that doesn’t cause so much stress that I grind my teeth at night. Work that never results in days where Ruby is asleep both when I leave in the morning, and when I come home at night.
A community of people who understand.
Enough rain, but not too much.
Chickens and goats and a dog in my yard.
Fresh eggs and goat’s milk cheese and soap.
Time to write. Time to play with my little girl. Time to bake and garden and dream.
No more days when I only see my husband for ten minutes in passing as I come home and he leaves for work.
To get through the scary stuff I see on the horizon with grace and in safety.
Kevin thinks we need to stay here until summer 2011. He has good points.
What kind of mother wants to move her daughter just before her senior year? What kind is willing to move her son away from his one very-hard-won friend? What kind of wife can’t be patient for one year?
I know we should stay. We should figure out a way to make here work until Adrienne graduates, anyway.
My brain gets that. But my heart is screaming that we need to leave. We need to find a new place as soon as possible.