Busy Hands Homestead

Tired is lodged between my shoulder blades.   I pick a shovel and one scoop   at a time close up the trench connecting the power from the shop to the shell of our house. Seven hours later I shower and drive Adam to the airport.  He is mostly out of town for two weeks and I have no option but to keep moving.  Every day starts and ends with an impossibly long to do list.    I am woken up Tuesday morning a semi load of insulation being dropped off at my curb.  After work an (unbelievably kind) neighbor and I lug each giant bag of rock wool into the house and pile some in every room - down stairs and up the stairs – until my arms no longer can hug the bags to my chest.   Wednesday night we do the same, but when I try to bear hug the first bag insulation to me I find I can’t carry a single one on my own.   As we round up the corner of the stairs the first time a flutter catches my eye.   An owl is trapped against ...

I climb up and down a ladder moving it across the room as I place lights,  connect and then secure wires.  The smell of paint wafts up the stair case from below, where Adam is staining pine tongue and groove boards for the soffit. The roof is dried in, but not yet roofed. The windows and doors are in.  In spite of reservations and the looming lists of things yet to be done, we commit to our annual river trip. "The kids would never forgive us", we say to each other after bed time. Sylvan paddles his kayak,  Ivory rides with a friend, Adam pushes a canoe with all our gear and I stand a top my new paddle board as we move down river to our over night camping spot.  photo credit:  Joe Nickell I leave my phone in the car. I allow myself the space to not think about anything at all.  I still need to wash towels, and pack away our life jackets and camping things.  The plumbing and wiring is almost complete.  I am waiting on the pho...