We arrived to the farm right before sunset Sunday evening and spent the better part of six to seven hours doing some massive cleaning. Barn apartments have lots of cobwebs, dirt, dust and dead flies. I am so glad we decided to take this pre-move trip to clean because, well, it really needed it. Previous tenants had left shoes, coats, food items, toiletries, and a kitchen stocked with dishes, pots and pans, cutlery, even a Cuisinart food processor and rice steamer. But, I have all my own kitchen items. *whine* I don't want to move into what feels like someone else's house.
Farmer Thomas (and his wife Liz) assured us none of it belonged to them, so we made piles for recycling, trash, or to take home and wash (a LL Bean coat, some overalls, thermals and dish towels). Many of these random things (a drawer full of VHS tapes, books, and cabinets full of kitchen utensils and cookware) we shoved in one chest of drawers and will not open it again. I'm not sure it could be opened again if we wanted to.
We know it is a temporary situation for us: living pretty rustically in a barn with exposed beams, cement floors, and a bathroom that is shared by other farmhands, however we both still want it to feel like home. Or at least feel like somewhere I want to be. The cleaning helped with that, and the purging and the rearranging.
...
The entire twenty-four hours we were in Valley Falls/ Schaghticoke/ Troy the temperature did not get above freezing. We drove through some snow flurries. There is ice and snow covering the ground where in a few short months kale and beets and gooseberries will grow. I'm scared of the cold. I'm considering buying some serious thermal socks and some long underwear to wear under my pants. I'm scared it won't ever get warm. It was so cold I actually wore some of the previously mentioned dirty clothes I found in the apartment. And two pairs of socks. And a toboggan that was laying on a shelf. Lice? Well, it was cold.
Our apartment has a little heater which is regulated by a thermostat, and it heats pretty well. Our space is in the cellar of the barn, underground and the wind blowing through at night howls something terrible. I must have woken up Chris (who slept with his headlamp on---not turned "on", but wrapped around his forehead.) three times saying, "Chris. Did you hear that?" I knew it was just the wood and sheet metal and old creaky barn, but it was all new. Again. New again. I had to mentally stop myself in that moment and say, "Wait a minute here, Stefani. Have you been in the city so long now that the country scares you? Because you are from the country. It used to be other other way around, stop. Listen."
The silence was massive. The cold extreme. The space we will live in, while larger than most NYC apartments, is old and dark and has spiders. (We killed 12 in less than 24-hours-- thus the headlamp!) But I know I will be alright. I know I will love it (most of the time). I long for not being around so many people all the time and not feeling rushed when I buy my fruit in the market and not feeling trapped.
It's still an amazing opportunity and we are lucky enough to just go and do and trust that it'll all work out. But my flesh says, Yeah, but it's still temporary. Yeah, but it's still not home. And when those feelings bubble to the surface I just have to say--- but it's obedience. And it is going to be amazing. It's actually a better life than I could have dreamed for myself five years ago. Money and storage and gas money and prescriptions and friends and Internet and putting away my engagement ring--- it'll all be fine. It'll be wonderful!
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