The old house in the country is lovely -- every creature thinks so. I can't count the number of things I've had to relocate to the wilds or send on to the wild blue from a house that sat empty too long.
There is one room the owner tried to take back to the original logs which had been hidden under wide boards long ago. Fortunately, he only messed with one wall. Now that wall needs chinked and creatively covered. There are old newspapers on part of the wall -- 1909, I believe they are.
On the night of mid-summer, we gathered in our kitchen for soup and in our yard for circle. Mark led a meditation on finding an animal spirit guide. At one point, he said, "we have not tamed the wilds, the wilds are still with us," and the coyotes began to howl, as if on cue.
Some days, evenings mostly, I wonder what we're doing, moving out there. Half my heart wants to go to West Asheville, settle there, go to Jubilee every Sunday, drum circle every Friday, pot-luck with friends once a month, and to the Bookstore of Lexington every week. Malaprops for coffee. French Broad Co-op for good food.
But morning comes again and there's work to do on the old house. Maybe Asheville can come to us.
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