I think I sort of floated into the word of ‘pandemic sharing’—mine through writing— without understanding all of the possible consequences… I have to ask, does creating equal consent?

I never thought I’d be one of those people with a bunch of cars parked on their lawn. You know: the eyesore house. But, if you’ve been following along with our journey from NYC to MN, you know that since we moved to our ramshackle farmhouse in the fall of 2020, I’ve done a lot of things I never thought I would…

I *think* I finally feel real here. Mostly. At least, I don’t constantly feel like somebody is going to find me out and drag me away to where I really belong. I don’t feel like I’m playing hooky as often anymore.

At the rate we are going—and going is not entirely accurate as it indicates constant forward motion—this kitchen alone could take at least three more years. Friend, I am trying to stay married. Friend, I am trying to stay calm. Friend, I. Am. Struggling.

Our 12 month reckoning. Can I just say, “Whew!”? It’s been a lot. And not enough. It’s been shocking, and icky, and breathtaking, and riotous, and maddening, and so very sweet.

It has been as if we were auditioning aspects of this new life; what can we grow? Do we even like gardening? Will the land return our efforts? And often: are we screwing this up? Friend, we are actors. We’ve never even played farmers.

It was that moment when I realized that my sunny little girl was not taking this all in stride. We talk about the resilience of children, and that is a thing—I hope—eventually.

“What’s in a name?” We have been living full time in our new (old) farmhouse in the Saint Croix River Valley for seven months, and it is time we call it something more than just home.

I thought the things I could see would be our focus. I thought that a working kitchen and bathroom were sort of basic requirements when you have a small child. I thought we all thought this. Well, think again.

I am happy to report that our daughter’s room is officially finished! She is even happier than I. It’s really easy to look only at what isn’t done yet when you take on a project of this scope, and frankly that gets depressing! So, I thought it might be fun to lighten things up and tell you about Finley’s Rainbow Wonderland. It was most definitely a journey.

I have been muscling my way through my favorite season with a fervor of festiveness because if I don’t cover up the holes that are everywhere in the fabric of our life right now, it may fall apart. Or I may. I’ve been dancing as fast as I can to the beat of the little drummer boy, but I don’t think I can keep up the pace. Damnit. And I don’t even like that song.

WARNING: This post contains upsetting and/or graphic rodent related content. If you are a member of PETA, a practicing Buddhist, or an avid animal lover, turn back now. Seriously. You do not want to read this. STOP! As for the rest of you: buckle your seatbelts and dial up your gross-factor tolerance. I am about to tell you the story of 2020: The Year of the Mouse.

When last I wrote, we were poised for the removal of bat guano (et al) from our attic. I thought it would be messy, and it was, but I had no idea that that mess was only the beginning.

I am 100% down with waiting for Democracy to do its thing. And I have come to accept that Covid will be with us for a tragically long time. But I may have reached my threshold for living in a construction zone.

The sight of the goats, bullies and all, felt reassuring. They were always there, in some corner of the farm, chewing and looking hopefully towards us with corn on the brain. Until…one day…they weren’t.

There is a price to sophistication, I think. To knowing. To having so much at your finger tips. My hope is that by slowing down, my child will find meaning and wholeness in the spaces between the highlight reel moments of her life.

I don’t exactly know what I look like right now, and I don’t really care. I’m sure I will care once I see my reflection again, but for this moment, I have the luxury of making choices based solely on how I feel in my skin.