Week Five

Today begins week five up here on Horehound Hill. The rental make-ready is still not done. The grass is still a 21st century faux pas and the painting inside the house is still not finished. The paint job far exceeds low-end rental house standards, but that is beside the point. It is not a secret that this old house with a rotting foundation and zero insulation is not my main attraction up here. It wouldn't be, even if it was up to Gated Community Standards. Houses hold my things, not my life. One storage unit is as good as another. The two sorely neglected barns and 140 feral acres are far more interesting to me. No surprise to anybody who knows me. Force me into a five-star tourist wonderland and you will find me looking for the compost bin and/or nurturing the wild plants in the landscaping beds.

The ledger status of this place remains obscure. Legally, it remains in probate. Pragmatically, the two brothers who are now the legal stewards of it are die-hard suburbanites who hire out landscaping chores and still believe my field studies are just run-away housewife spa trips. They think my weed witching is so-o-o-o adorable . . . when I keep it properly curbed between first downs in the holiday traditions. On my radar, there is not much point to discussing it with anybody who can classify millions of plant varieties by a single, four letter word. Yes, dear, that endagered plant is just a weed. Kill it before it grows. Justification for chemical warfare, if ever there was one. . . Be sure you hire a specialist. The two brothers are pretty sure they don't want the hassle of their father's landlord business, but the potentials here are quite outside their respective corporate boxes.

Hubs seems inclined toward letting his housewife do her housewoofery up here. I do not want to argue semantics, but I find myself wanting to set up a job site headquarters. There is a world of potential here and that fits beautifully with the field work I have been doing in between the spa mud baths and sexy spa wraps. Still no navigable rivers, but lots of watersheds.

We see what grows. . . Letting God lead The Dance.