Future farmers? Probably not.

Farmers must sleep really well.

Three curious horses peek at me.

Todd and I have been staying at a farm in rural Virginia for the past week.  It's beautiful and peaceful enough to make us fantasize about settling down on our own little farm after we return from globe trotting.

The family that runs this farm are always doing something; on a farm, there is always something to be done.






The animals, of course, come first.  By the time I wake up, someone has already been out to the barn and tended to the horses; moved them into pastures for the day; filled water troughs.  Now feed and water the dogs and peacocks.  Account for the cats.  The geese pretty much take care of themselves, but if they venture too far away, you've got to find them and call them back to the safety of home.

Then, just like at your lawn in town, grass needs mowing and weeds need whacking.  Only there's much more of it out here.  It seems every homestead has a big ol' John Deere and a king-size riding lawn mower, and they get used every day.  It took our farmer many hours over three days (after returning from his 9-5 job) to cut the grass surrounding the farmhouse (not the pastures, though).

With miles of fence, there's likely to be a line or a post or two out of place or a kink in an electric wire, so someone has to check the entire fence line frequently, then haul the materials and make the necessary repairs on location.

Dead branches and trees need to be cut down, the wood chopped and hauled and stacked in preparation for winter.  Brush cleared.  Grain and hay and medicine and supplies must be inventoried, ordered, and divvied out.  Riding lessons scheduled and given.  Horses groomed.  Vehicles and equipment maintained.  Not to mention the normal household chores: grocery shopping, cooking, laundry, cleaning the bathrooms, paying the bills.  (Oh, and on this farm, maintaining and advertising and scheduling visitors to the guest house.)

Traffic

Exercise a horse or two, then spray off the sweat and mayflies.

In the evening, before the sun dips below the horizon, move the horses back to their stables, feed them all, top off the water troughs.  Give each horse a good once-over, treat any cuts, pull any tics.  Make sure the geese are nearby and the dogs are in for the night.

The lights in the house go out pretty early.

The farm at Travelers Rest is pristine, and that's because every day someone is doing all of these things, and more.  It's a different way of life than the one I know; one that reminds me how inherently lazy I really am.  I have huge respect for people who farm.

Even though I might daydream of country living, my love of lounging, watching Netflix late into the night, and sleeping in well past daybreak strongly suggests that, no, I'm not likely to become a farmer anytime soon.

I'm going back to the hammock now.

I'm Sleeping Where George Freaking Washington Did!

There is so much history east of the Rocky Mountains that I've forgotten about since cramming for school final exams!  On our trek from Utah to Virginia, I saw monuments to Lewis and Clark; Robert E. Lee; Davy Crockett; Daniel Boone; David Farragut; Jefferson Davis; Kit Carson; Mark Twain; Hunter S. Thompson; Casey Jones; Patrick Henry; Abraham Lincoln; Pocahontas.  (If you don't know who these important Americans are, look 'em up!  You'll be glad you did.)

For 9 days, we are staying at Travelers Rest, a farmhouse located on a lonely country road about half way between two historic places: Richmond, Virginia and the Potomac River.  This dwelling built in 1760 is where General George Washington would stop and rest when he was traveling between Washington DC and Williamsburg.

(Yes! THAT George Washington!)

When we first walked into the amazing old house, I was struck by the scent of wood-burning hearth, and by the high ceilings above short and crooked doors.  I don't know how much of the house is original, but I do know that nothing looks like really old bricks like really old bricks do, and that the handrail on the stairs has been polished smooth by time in a way that just can't be faked, and that the staircase inside is slanted just enough to make me think I've swigged a second beer every time I go up or down them.

 
Outside among acres and acres of gently rolling hills is a big ol' red barn with horses, a pond, a hammock, the obligatory gang of geese patrolling the property, fenced pastures in front of endless woods. There is not another house in sight.

Absent are sounds of city life, replaced by a constant chorus of birdsong (not completely welcome at 5 o'clock this morning, but pleasant nonetheless), punctuated by the occasional peacock holler, worried goose chatter and soft horse whinnies.  And after dark, only the willows rustling in the breeze.

This is the future "peaceful place" in my mind.

Todd and I went on a long walk into the woods this morning, before the heat of the day settled onto the Virginia landscape.  We tromped along in the company of a farm dog, whose name I don't know, but he was happy to join us strangers on his land.  We meandered deeper and deeper into the woods, farther away from signs of human settlement, on a trail just about wide enough for a pair of horses to march side-by-side between the tree trunks.  Todd broke our silence, to tell me he'd once read that George Washington used to personally walk around his property on a regular basis, possibly so he could tell others what needed to be tended to later.  It was even possible, he said, that The General walked on this very trail during one of his stops here at Travelers Rest, some 250 years ago.

George Freaking Washington!

I love history.

Observations from the road

A few tidbits I've noticed while spending hours (and hours and hours) in the car:

• A bridge is a pretty cool structure, no matter where you cross it.
• Canada Geese are also in Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee and Virginia.
• The further south you drive, the more roadkill you see.
• There is no shortage of bugs attracted to the windshield in Kentucky.
• The Smokey Mountains are aptly named.
• So is The Bible Belt.
• In at least one roadside diner near Bristol, Tennessee, Jesus, Mary and Joseph all have blonde hair.
• Suburban sprawl looks the same everywhere, but police cars look different in every state.
• No matter how fast (or slow) you're going, traffic will slow down when a cop car pulls onto the highway.
• "Three Star" accommodations have entirely different meanings, depending where you are.
• Aggressive drivers and super friendly locals can both be found nearly everywhere.
• Guinness makes a Blonde American Lager.
• You can purchase Guinness Blonde American Lager in Virginia on Sunday.
• You can get a good meal nearly everywhere, if you avoid chain restaurants.
• Some of the best places to see are not listed in any guidebooks.
• A gorgeous sunset is gorgeous, even from an unattractive roadside motel.

Even the Best Laid Plans...

The observant reader might have noticed that I am not, in fact, in Europe.  Here's what happened:

-----

Todd and I employed our best Tetris skills cramming into our Mini Cooper everything we'll bring on our trip, plus items to leave with family while we travel.  When the little car could not possibly hold another thing, we said good-bye to our house and pulled away from it for the last time.

It was 10 a.m. and the sky was as clear and hopeful as our expectations of blissful globe trotting.  Unfortunately, Mother Nature didn't care about our plans and within three hours delivered a blizzard that would close I-80 for two days.  Our progress was halted in Middle-of-Nowhere, Wyoming (where, annoyingly, I had no cell phone service).

When the highway was still closed the next morning, we decided to bypass the weather, taking a 2-lane road along the Continental Divide that led south into Colorado.  This detour proved to be a good gamble; it was free of snow and had more deer than cars.  

Pronghorns (antelope, not deer, thanks @Lynne) in Colorado

Our luck wouldn't hold, though.  Road conditions deteriorated as we crossed the Rockies, leading to white-knuckled hours dodging giant semi-trucks that moved at alarmingly inconsistent speeds and paths on steep grades and around curves.  I can now state with confidence that our car can accelerate very quickly and also has very good brakes.  My husband can confirm that the Oh-Sh*t bar works.

By the time we reached Denver, two days behind schedule, exhausted and relieved to have escaped the mountains unscathed, I seriously considered partaking in Colorado's newly legalized state pastime...  We then crossed Kansas without dying of boredom, but had to cut short our visit with friends in Kansas City in order to get to mid-Missouri in time for Grandma's memorial service.  (Which we did.)

That was last week.  I thought we would be in Spain by now, and was a little bummed when we canceled our flight to Madrid, even though I had agreed to delay Europe for just a little while and first explore more of the United States in our own car.  And maybe I could get used to the idea of not working; appreciate wherever we are today and not worry about where we should be next week.

I have been retired for exactly three weeks.  My mind is still in "vacation" mode; I feel like we should go-go-go before the carriage turns back into a pumpkin.  My husband, who has been retired for two years and is accustomed to it, reminded me, "What's the hurry?  It's not like you have to go to work on Monday.  Europe isn't going anywhere."

So, even though I'm still longing to be somewhere across the Atlantic, I am trying to not be so anxious.  I have enjoyed the extra time with our son, and catching up with my in-laws, and I am getting used to not calling Utah home.  Tomorrow, instead of jumping on a Madrid-bound plane, we are getting back in the car and heading to the east coast, where we will spend a couple of weeks vacationing.  Then we'll fly to Europe.  **That's the plan.

**subject to change

Adieu, Dorothy

Our exit from Utah began with bumps and jags, rather than with the smooth start I'd hoped for.

Amidst all the hub-bub of arranging to become

In loving memory of Dorothy Irene Yoder

full-time gallivants, we lost my husband's paternal grandmother, Dorothy Irene Yoder, who passed away at the age of 96.  The family was kind enough to wait for us to arrive in Missouri (more about our misadventures on that commute in another post) before holding Grandma's memorial service.

Grandma Yoder was a tiny woman with a steady, piercing gaze, who enjoyed getting gussied up for visitors.  She was spry, 10% feisty and 100% hearty midwesterner.  She loved ice cream and the color lavender, and didn't much care for meat.  When I think about the stories of Grandma's youth, which she told with fervor and crystal clarity, I marvel at all she must have seen in nearly a century on this planet.

Grandma was born in 1918, the same year that World War I ended, Chevrolet sold it's first pick-up truck, and Air Mail service began.  Dorothy was a third-grader when the first motion picture with sound was played, and it wasn't until she was 10 years old that sliced bread was invented.  Grandma married Grandpa Walter when she was just 16 years old; they were together for 70 years, until Grandpa's passing 11 years ago.  "Greatest Generation", indeed!

Grandma was memorialized in the Yoder family plot, next to Grandpa, in a picturesque, sunny hilltop cemetery just a few miles from the town where she grew up.

I am fortunate and very glad to have known Dorothy Yoder.  Farewell, sweet Grandma.

Just a couple of jobless goof-offs

Fond memories with work friends.

Three years ago life as my family knew it was turned upside-down: I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  Four surgeries and 11 months later, I got a clean bill of health.  A few days after that, my husband retired from his job with the FAA and began planning how and when we'd fulfill our dream of gallivanting around the world together.

We have been waiting patiently for certain events to fall in place, and now they finally have:

• Child = happily settled in college   
• House = sold
• Car = sold

Now a final step: this Thursday was my last day of work.  Ever.  (Or, at least until I'm through playing Vasco da Gama and perhaps get bored - though at this moment I don't foresee that happening!)

Who wouldn't look forward to chucking their alarm clock and relinquishing the burdens of holding a 9-to-5 in exchange for new vistas under new horizons?  Not gonna lie, I certainly did!

But, like dark chocolate, I taste all kinds of bittersweet...I really loved my work, and genuinely enjoyed my daily interactions with everyone at the office. I'm glad for the whirlwind of farewell luncheons and hugs and shared excitement for my future meandering endeavors.

So as I finish the last minute details before leaving town, I will remain grateful for the friends I've made, and for those who choose to stay in touch with me after I've left this town.

Now, since we don't have jobs to get to, its on to final packing!

Farewell card from my awesome team

Yes, we are really doing this!

Two weeks after my 46th birthday, my husband and I sold our home, I quit my job, and we bought one-way tickets to Europe.

Todd and I have taken a few vacations abroad during our marriage, but a couple of years ago we began talking seriously about seeing the world while we still had our good health.  Now it was time to stop talking and start walking.  Put up or shut up.  Like the Nike ad says, Just do it!

Why not go now?  Just because we aren't "typical" retirement age?  That's no compelling reason not to.  Didn't we yearn to wake up in Paris or Pisa or Crete or Croatia, with no job to hurry off to, and the only agenda for the day being "taste something new"?  That's compelling!

Not every couple is on the same page when it comes to travel.  In fact, in most that we know, one half of the pair longs to tour far and wide while the other wants nothing more than to deepen their hometown roots.  So Todd and I know we are lucky to both want to do this, at the same time, together.

Throughout the commotion of wrapping up our whole life and planning (loosely) the first leg of our tour, I've discovered these things:

1. We have accumulated a lot of stuff.
2. Books, when loaded into a box, are really heavy.
3. It's emotionally taxing to pack away all your personal things, knowing it might be a long time before you see them again. 
4. It's even harder to select just a few items to take on a trip of unknown duration, especially when it all has to fit into a small carry-on.  (More on this in another post.)

Also unexpected is the emotional roller coaster of paring down nearly 22 years of married life into a few boxes.   Giving away books and furniture and clothes is easy; they are just things.  But I didn't grasp just how much I adore my house, a darling 1925 Tudor, until I realized that soon somebody else will call it home.

Exciting as it is to be taking the steps to fulfill this dream, it's not easy to walk away from life as I know it for unfamiliar everything.

But (deep breath) I'm truly looking forward to sharing new experiences with my husband.   Hand-in-hand, with heartbeats racing, we'll begin our adventure in ten days.

I'll let you know how it turns out.