Me and the barn, we're sticking together

Out in the field this afternoon on the tractor, working on clearing new pastures for new fence lines, I took a break and looked up. I was almost startled by the site of her. It was a beautiful view of her profile, against the blue sky, so close to the ocean with the smell of the sea over my shoulder coming in on a breeze. There are donkeys to the left of her and a bunch of Misfits back and to the right, and an old house that still hasn't released all her magic to me, but will, I hope in time.

With each hour I work on the land here, I feel closer to being home. I'm not totally there yet. It could take months, even years. Whose counting? When I'm here on the property though, I feel content, hopeful, full of ideas. Sometimes when we are out and about, I feel a bit lost, or an outsider just trying to stand up straight. I know how this goes, I went through it in all my moves, and this is a big move. We went to the feed store today where we also have been buying fencing and materials galore and they know us now. They share banter with us. We feel at home there. We go to the main grocery store and know certain clerks now and know where all our favorite items are.

We drive down the road and know names of some people, and the myths of others and gossip about some too. We find the farm people we have met are of the same ilk. But my favorite feeling is coming into our gate, and being here. And when I looked up at the new barn today, I felt her encouraging me,

It's all fine, we have so much to do together. I can't wait until you plant the bed out front with the sunflowers like you said.

She might think differently if I move The-World's-Grumpiest-But-I'm-Fine-The-Way-I-Am-Pig out there, which I plan to do soon so she can have an outer area too, of her own of course.

The new barn feels like a real anchor here. I can think in there and feel my skin and not worry about saying the right or wrong thing to The Hungry-those people in the outer world who have so much empty space in their lives that they project their expectations on to other people, and are always, in the end, crushed that their expectations aren't met. The Hungry that I have encountered in my life never seem to have healthy boundaries. Some of them give and give to you-material things you haven't asked for but kindly say thank you too, or they tell you after one meeting they 'love' you and all you project out tot he world. But in the end, they give and give, and are always, in my experience, hurt-because they don't think they are getting back what they deserve, they seem to always think they have not been appreciated properly. The Hungry seem to swoop into your life, and can often just disappear silently, and never speak o you again. I'm learning to recognize them more quickly but not always.

My barn respects boundaries, and has gates-sometimes they are open, sometimes they are closed, and I get to decide the best time for that.

That's the great thing about barns. They don't expect anything of me, they don't make projections. But they give back so much, without asking-shelter from wind and snow, dappled sunlight for old and young bones, a sandy bottomed floor to sit down on and just listen to the cud chewing meetings. The roof creeks a song and the big doors when opened might reveal a myriad of surprises-life, a death, or  a wandering cat come to stay.

I'm sticking around to be with the barn. She's not of The Hungry. She's her, I'm me. And she never should me, nor I her.