Ah me! I have a fever... but not the hot, uncomfortable kind... I have "building fever". I want to build SOMETHING! In fact, I want to build something specific.
It started the other day when I walked into a lumber store and smelled that wonderful scent of pine. That was the first moment when it hit me.
"I want to build something!" I announced to no one in particular.
A few days later, as the horses were chewing the north pasture down to dangerously non-recoverable levels, I decided to let them out into the back 30. Anyone knows that in order to do that, you have to walk the fence line to make sure that no limbs have come down in a storm, creating an escape route for the beasties.
I walked... and walked... and walked.
My farm is 1/2 a mile long and 1/4 mile wide. It had been raining and I didn't really feel like forging the creek, so I had to walk 1/4 mile down the road, just to start the process. Then I had to walk to the back of the north pasture, inspecting the fence all along (it could use some repairs, but it's okay for now)... I then had to walk 1/4 mile back to the gate separating the north 10 and the back 30. Then another quarter mile further, back to the outer fence line. The tromp was getting close to a mile at this point.
Nearing the end of the northeastern boundary, I paused at "the canyon". It used to be this innocent enough looking pond until a mysterious storm washed away the hillside and created a deep and cavernous canyon... leaving the fence, and a single hedge pole, dangling high above the ex-pond-now-creek.
It's very creepy back there... dangerous feeling. To stand at the top, near the fence, and look down makes my stomach do flip-flops from the height. It's a Looooonnnnngggg way down!
Technically, the horses COULD escape through there. I mean, all they'd have to do would be get into the stream and walk out... but there is also a giant Bobcat who likes to hunt in the surrounding woods. Bobcats also like to "mark" their territory, and while I can't smell anything, the horses would be able to. I'm suspecting that they'll leave that spot alone and graze elsewhere.
Soon, I walk around the "pond" area to check the fences at the back... walk across the back to the windmill, and then mosey on up the hill a little bit. Like I said, we've just had rain and it's all just a bit more squishy than I care to deal with.
Now I am standing at the fence which separates the row crop (corn this year) from the pasture. I'm thinking that I might climb over it, just to save the 1/4 mile hike aaaallllllll the way up and the other 1/4 mile aaaaalllllll the way back, but another glance around at hundreds of poison ivy vines covering every square foot of the wire makes me reconsider.
1 and 3/4 miles into my tromp, I discover a gate in bad shape. This gate was probably built in the 1920's and has been left to rot in neglect at the far southeast corner of the row crop field. Not only that, the rest of the fence for a good twenty feet is also down. However, there is no food in here for acres around...
I rationalize that the horses will (hopefully) not discover it. They don’t tend to get very curious when there's no food involved.
As I start on the way back toward the house… 1/2 a mile yonder - to the west… I glance up at the trees. They are so old and huge. Giant Osage trees frame almost the entire outer boundary of our farm. They aren't the most beautiful trees in the world, but they are very useful. Pioneers used to plant them to mark off their property lines. The wood is exceptionally hard and resistant to rotting, which is great for making fence posts. Also, when cut and split, the firewood sends off beautiful sparks shooting out into the night. It is lovely to watch... mesmerizing...
However, this tree line needs some serious pruning.
I take a deep breath, trying not to feel overwhelmed at the work that needs to be done, and continue on my way. That was when I noticed it. The "Broom Sedge" has taken over the entire lake pasture!
Broom Sedge (some farmers call it "Red Thread") is a course red grass which can take over a pasture that hasn’t been sufficiently fertilized. It’s so course that the pioneers used it to make brooms… and it's difficult to get rid of. I knew I had a "patch" of it out there, but that was the first time I noticed that it had taken over 90% of my hay crop!
"Argh! Stop throwing more work at me!" I yell and shake my fist and the weeds.
Sighing deeply, I continue my task of inspecting along the fence line, trying to ignore the things I can't change right now. To mow the Broom Sedge at this point would only spread its seed further. I'm also not comfortable operating a chain saw alone... or at all... for cleaning up that tree line.
*Sigh*... back to the task at hand.
I finally make it through the field to the back pasture, make my way down the hill and through the equally old and rickety wooden gate. There, I stepped into the Camp site...
The "Camp site" is a beautiful, relatively level, clearing within an otherwise dense grove of trees. A bubbling brook melodically meanders down from the ever flowing springs in and around the lake just up the hill.
It is beautiful...
It is peaceful...
It is divinely lovely!
It fills me with an immediate desire to pitch a tent, build a campfire and swear off modern civilization for the rest of my days. OH SO HEAVENLY!
As I stood in the grove, it happened again... I was seized upon by the lust to build something! At first I thought about a camping cabin, but then I remembered the little stone house I've always wanted.
It would be a completely self-contained retreat. I could go there and find the peace and quiet to work on my books again. It would have a huge stone fireplace and chimney, a porch and windows all the way around. I think I'd even like to give it sky lights so that I can lay there on snowy days and watch the flakes pile up over my head. On rainy days, I could watch the water drops fall down from the sky and splash, splish, splash! On stormy nights, I could watch the lightning flash through the clouds, listening to the thunder rumble on and on and on... On clear nights - in the winter - when there are no leaves - I could watch the moon and the stars.
Of course, I would be lying on my comfy white iron, four poster bed covered in a thick, white satin quilt and feeling quite protected within the embroidered lace curtains drawn all around it, a lacy dust ruffle fluttering near the floor and a nice warm fire burning in that gorgeous gray river rock fireplace. Outside, nothing else can be heard above that bubbling brook, breezes in the trees and birds singing love songs to their mates.
*Sigh…*
Standing in the grove, weighing my lust for building, I also experience an intense desire to be rich. If I were really rich, I could do it. I could hire someone to help with the heavy part and I could get it all done...
For now, however, I can barely scrape together the funds to fertilize the pastures and try to get rid of that broom sedge... and all the other weeds that are threatening to take over the rest of the farm.
Still... it all starts with a dream right? I mean, I designed one cottage before and after 10 years or so, it actually became a reality. Granted, it's only used for storage, but it DID happen. Maybe, it could happen again.
*Sigh...*
Taking another deep breath, I walk down the hill, cross the bridge over Silver Brook, trek up through the back pasture, through the grove in the back yard, past the wood pile, through the garden and finally make it back to the house. I've tromped 2 and 3/4 miles and dreamed visions of possibilities, fought discouragement and overwhelm and flown on the wings of hope.
All is not lost… I can now cross "Exercise" off my list. :o)
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