How about a scenic drive? It rained so much last night our yard is full of little ponds. The main entrance to the goat paddock would be heaven for hogs. I'm sure Karen's checking craigslist or farmers' pages right now. Two hundred-fifty pounds later we'll be moving the cabin freezer to our basement. I can't seem to shake my dream of a tiny home in retirement, except the freezers and put-away food would take up half the space, then the piano and a bed.... Well, you get the picture.
Turning left from our lane takes us south. Look over at the house, perfectly positioned for southern exposure. Our big six-over-six windows make the upper stairwell the coziest spot in the place even though we have no registers upstairs and two rarely used fireplaces. On our right, see a short mountain and Tank Hollow, home to the black bears neighbors often spot returning from din-din at the Compost Heap.
Past the trailer park blight of Arnold's Valley, the Thomas Jefferson National Forest is all around us, with the Blue Ridge Parkway capping the east. The Appalachian Trail snakes close to the ridges, now abandoned by this year's crop of through-hikers who have cried hello to Maine or Georgia or called it quits for now.
Today Thunder Ridge is on vacation, nowhere to be seen. We left sunshine at the farmhouse. Opossum Creek tumbles and rumbles behind our cabin, my studio escape from the noises below.
Like Virginia, you and everyone, I sit down to add my own sounds to the melodies and harmonies of Mother Earth -- in this case, I hope, beneficial global warming.
The Bowman Women; A Work In Progress
1 month ago