WAFFLE HILL FARM
animal kingdom / DAILY FARM LIFE / favorites
I thought moving might be like childbirth. A painful, sometimes long and drawn out experience, but once you get somewhat removed from it, your memory fogs and you actually begin to think that someday, down the road, you might be able to do it all over again.
But no. No. It’s not.
When I think back on the past several weeks of moving–the endless, hillbilly, tiny load at a time in the back of a pick-up truck, no real deadline move we just went through, I still feel this big sob build in my chest.
But let’s start with the good news.
favorites / WAFFLE HILL FARM / Woodlawn
Several weeks ago, as we were pulling out of the lane, I noticed a dead Cardinal in the road. I slowed the car to a stop and rolled down the back windows so Birdy could look out and see it. She is my #tinynaturalist and finds all things–living, dead, gross, beautiful–fascinating. I knew, even though the bird was a goner, she’d still love to take a few minutes to study it from her view out the car window.
This wasn’t one of my finer parenting decisions.
It turns out the cardinal wasn’t completely dead. But was most definitely experiencing its last moments on earth. Instead of giving my miniature scientist a fascinating moment to study, it was a little closer to emotional trauma. Ooops.
As we continued up the road she began to cry big, giant tears in the back seat. She’d always dreamed of finding an injured bird. Could we please come back this way and if the bird was still there, could she keep it?
I tossed out the idea to her that maybe it would be good news if we returned home to find the bird gone from the road. Wouldn’t this mean that it had survived and flittered away? (While I silently considering calling Dan to remove the what I now assumed would be dead-bird from the road.) But no. Health and healing was not what she hoped for. She hoped for an injured bird awaiting her care and comfort on the side of the road.
You guys. Moving is THE WORST.
On top of that, I dare say short moves–like our 5 minutes up the road-move–may even be worse because there isn’t a hard and fast deadline. Like a bunch of hillbillies, we’ve been taking loads up and down the road in the back of Dan’s work pickup for the past several weeks.
On the very first trip up the road, my wedding train blew out of a box in the bed of the truck–floating up into the air and back down again. Right in front of the tires of another truck riding right behind us. Greasy tire treads on my wedding train. Classy.
At first, when we started moving a few things out of the house, it was blissful. I’d dance around the emptied space and declare that this THIS was the way I wanted to live from now on. I didn’t need that stuff. I loved all the room and the lack of clutter. I felt free and light.