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Another big moon comes
and goes as
the season of life
and death that is
spring unfolds
somewhere, maybe
here, maybe
tomorrow today
as the cat lays in
the grass planted
last fall inside
the kitchen window
and waits.
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And I wait impatiently for the horses to begin shedding their shaggy coats just so I can have reason to spend more time with them as they bustle about on dry dirt and vie for the attention of my curry comb and close breath.
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A mourning dove shows up early, lured by warmer air only to find no more than small patches of open ground, not ideal for a ground feeder, and the seeds I throw out daily are of no interest.
Down at one of the few open places where the Rio Grande runs clear and black like licorice beneath her otherwise still white ribbon, a pair of Mallards swims from one end of the open place to another and fly off as the dog and I cross river, me on snow shoes, he on broad feet with long fur between his pads that have only rarely touched bare earth in so many months.
Spring approaches the high country like a chrysalis revealing.
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After weeks of crunching more numbers that I have since… ever… and straining my eyes where by my reading glasses no longer seem strong enough, I’m done playing architect, done with our house plans. We await the opening of white pasture and the cutting into ground, and in how long, too long, not soon enough, we will be in there living, breathing, walking around,, parking muddy boots by the door, sitting at the kitchen table with burning candles and full plates, watering house plants, baking bread, making love, kicking back in my claw foot tub and writing while the sun comes up in my nook.
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So much for the simplicity of a little log cabin. These drawings, ten pages from the bottom of the concrete footer to the top of my writing nook, seem so complex. Does it help or hinder to have plans drawn up by those who have built, not just those who have planned it on paper? I do not know, but I’m ready to put down my pencil and pick up my draw knife. I’m ready to build, to break ground and pour cement and peel and stack logs and with tired muscles and sore hands sit back at the Little Cabin and watch the new one come to life.
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Wonderful way to express the waiting for spring! I can identify.
Thank you, Cathy!
What a project, Gin. I admire that you know so much about building your own home – not to mention you’ll be out there “doing” it. Is the last photo the site?
Thanks for asking, Amy. We’re a good team – Bob’s the leader on this kind of stuff. Some days I’m happy to just cook for the crew, but those days are rare. The last photo is the Rio Grande down at Ute Creek a mile below our ranch. Our building site right now is just a white bluff over a frozen river at the edge of the pasture. In need of trees, and we continue to plant them every year.
Can’t wait to see the plans! We know what fabulous work you folks do … it will be wonderful, I’m sure
Correction: 15 pages… not included the 3-d drawings Forrest has on his computer. Too many to share – you’ll just have to come see!