Musings Made While Waiting for the Melatonin to Kick In

Its late. Very late, but it is in these hours of silence that I am most awake and alert. Frankly, I am tired of this and prefer to sleep normally, and wake at a time where I could make use of daylight hours. As it is now, I start to perk at around 4pm, and in the winter when the sun rides low across the hills anyway, it leaves me with little time to build up steam and get things done.

That being said, when I am up and listening as I am now, I get to hear the rain falling. I can hear the different sounds as it hits the fall leaves, or the roof. I can hear the water trickling down the spout, then makes its way through the grass. The wind has been strong and gusty for two days, and tonight, branches fell from the tops of the poplar out back and made a metallic blast each time they came down on the neighbors green tin roof. I was startled at first and so was Chutney. She barked and puffed all up as she marched to the back door to give her warning through the screen and into the night.

I guess I like the quiet. It is a different quiet than during the day.  We live in a very quiet place, to be sure, but the sounds are different. When the coyotes howl, I feel like they are right outside the house, and sometimes they are, but geez, when they are down in the holler and all those voices bounce back and forth off the hills, you would think there were a hundred of them. It raises the hackles on my neck, and Chutneys too. Candace on the other hand sleeps through most noise. Sometimes she will rise up and blink and gurgle before balling back up with the covers pulled tight to her chin.

I am getting sleepy now. The rain has slowed and so has the wind. I will stretch out, put on the blasted mask for the bipap machine that keeps me breathing :-( and drift off to the whooshing sound of the air being pushed into my lungs. How silly is that? How does a body decide the switch that makes you breathe in is on the blink? AH well, its both curious and maddening, but I find that I feel better for the hastle of it.

SO its off to sleep for now, and you know, I was wanting to write about finding a snake, and moving rocks around the farm, but thats what happens when you are up at 3am. Things dont always turn out like you think they will. I dont mind. I will read this tomorrow and be surprised, and maybe even a bit mortified. Who knows, but I will close for now and its off to dream land. Where will I go tonight? Only time will tell, and maybe my mind will let me see it, and as I wake tomorrow I will remember for the briefest of time as my mind reclaims it and stores it somewhere I dont have a key to. Goodnight.... goodnite.... gnite.

It Didnt Start Today

Today is the day I began to write about my life on the farm. Not just any farm, mind you, but Candybar Farm. I am talking about the little farm in the holler owned by my partner Candace and me. My name is Barb, and for as long as I can remember, I have loved being out in the country, and now I live in the most beautiful place, surrounded by trees and wild things. Slowly, we have been working toward making the land useful.

When we bought the land in 2005, it was all woods and briar's with a strip of gravel leading to where the house would sit. We loved it right away, and after a speedy negotiation it was ours. It took another year to get our house in and ready for us but it was worth the wait. We rented a house just down the hill so we were able to walk up to our land at any time and dream of the day when we would move in.

We had plans, lots of plans and we still do. We have come a long way and we still have far to go, but that is just fine. We are in no hurry because we are here to stay. We put down roots, the same way the roots spread and held on when we planted the trees and flowers that have made this place ours, but more about that later. Much more.

Candace and Barb in 2005 before moving in.

For now, I am thinking about the stories I will tell, and all the time that has passed since we carried the first box up the steps and into the house. It makes me happy, but it didn't start today. It started years and years ago, when I was a small child running around with my parents who took me everywhere. They were people who loved the country as well, and instilled in me early on the importance of good soil, being a good neighbor, and good New York Cheddar cheese. We covered miles and miles in the car and I remember standing between them on the long bench seat as we hurtled down highways and byways. I remember my hands on each of their shoulders and still remember the thrill of dad turning off the road to stop at some new place; an auction, a park or a place to fish. All these things I remember. All these things are why I write. All these things are why its good to live in the country.