Its Called Being Obsessive....

I have been spending an inordinate amount of time peering at my garden of late, waiting for it to spring into bloom. Tonight I brought the Precious Boy out with me to sit and stare, waiting for some sign of life other than the occasional earthworm or ant to pass me by. Within ten minutes he was incredibly bored, but I soon found this little shoot underneath a pebble of dirt. I immediately had to photograph it and now I must ask: Do you think this is a bean plant? Or is it just another pesky weed? I suppose that time will tell. I also suppose that the old adage is not at all true, and that a watched garden really does grow.

I also spent a small amount of time wandering through the barn, admiring what I have accomplished thus far and what I have yet to accomplish. See here the horse stall that will soon become a tack room. Picture it waist-deep in debris, trash, and cat food containers. And then look at the picture and tell me that I am not WonderWoman. And then if you do tell me that I am not WonderWoman, be sure to leave your address so that I can find your car and remove its distributor cap accordingly.

Also, you can see here my bull pens above at the right. They are clean, relatively speaking, and once I build up the nerve to remove the cob webs from them, I'm sure I will be in business to start thinking about preparing them for other things to live in them.




Here are two pictures of a terrifying experience I had tonight. I had to go down into the very, very scary basement of my parents' haunted house to fix a fuse. I've never before fixed a fuse, the flipping of that irritating little switch, but upon peering down into the basement stairs (See the picture to your left) I really did feel the need to stop and get a strong drink. Once I was down there, I didn't bother to photograph a thing on the way to the fusebox, because the terror that was in my heart over the thought of something ending up on my person was almost enough to cause heart failure. However, once I turned around, I couldn't not take a picture.

While the basement may be terrifying to some people with its six foot cielings and its dug dirt floor, I really have to stop and stare at the beauty of it all. Did you know that someone dug that basement with his own two hands? He placed the foundation there without the help of trucks and workmen and a company with a union. I wonder about the person who laid that foundation sometimes. Did he ever stop to think that a hundred and eighty years after he dug that foundation, a young girl would be living in the same house dreaming of being a farmer? Did he ever think that this same young girl would have spent her lifetime in that house, being scared of the creaky sounds it makes? Did he ever think that I would sit alone in my computer room and wonder about him, if he had a lovely young bride to bring him a jug of sweet tea, or if he had beer instead?

I wonder about him, sometimes. I wonder if he led a good life or a bad one. Mostly I wonder if he knows that I am still in awe of his work, almost two centuries later.

[A New Life, Long Term Goals, Farmer, Farming, Calf Pens, Haunted House]