From this end of the move, from an emptying house with dusty corners revealed by furniture that has preceded us to the new place, I feel surprising trepidation. It all seems so enormous, so possibly unattainable.
From our new home, though, walking through the grass on a gentle slope that is beginning to become familiar, it all seems possible.
I’ve made lists and charts and timelines. What to fit in on our next few days there so that I can capitalize on spring gardening. Which fences must be built and which repaired to get the sheep up and return for the goats. And the chickens and the geese and the rabbits.
Moving a homestead is difficult, but it reminds me that we’re not starting from scratch. We’ve accumulated materials and tools and some experience.
This venture started without our realizing it. It started with nightly dinners and herbs in the window. It started with a whim to make country wine from drought-ruined plums. It started in a tiny apartment with two dogs and a small electric stove.
It started with books, a bounty of knowledge gained just for a fascination with something I wanted “some day.”
I’m thankful for our journey and our future. I’m thankful for this in-between time, in which I can look down upon our past and what lies ahead and be glad. Trepidation is okay, as long as it is accompanied by determination. And it is.