Our Town

“Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by, Grover's Corners... Mama and Papa. Good-by to clocks ticking... and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths...and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you.”

― Thornton Wilder, Our Town

Sometimes I wonder why I still write here. At first the idea was to chronicle our time on the farm during the pandemic, figuring our story was sufficiently unique and interesting--farm girl brings her suburbanite spouse to live among cows and chickens--that someone may want to read about it. Now, three years and change into all this, I think I'm writing to an audience of one--myself, old and demented, with a grandchild finding these pages and reading them back to me, reminding me of ordinary days that were, are, magic and wonderful and painful all at once.

Of course, that grandkid will likely be reading me this passage in Russian, by the looks of things.

Yesterday I was back out at the beach for a site visit in a construction defect case. The home is a 6,000 foot behemoth, nothing I'd build for myself. The owner made his nut by leaving a secure gig working for the Man and making good money to start his own business and make even more through that leap of faith. It made him very happy by the looks of things. Then he took that fortune and built this leaky castle on a canal, which has made him very sad. There's a lesson in there somewhere.

After the inspection I swept through the office to briefly address the crisis du jour, then scooped the cats into the carrier to drive to the farm. Along the way I stopped at Popeye's for a chicken tender basket and fries, paying with my alternative credit card so AmEx wouldn't rat me out to Peggy by alerting her on her iPhone to the fast food transaction.

Needing to swing through Tallahassee to pick up some paperwork I'd need to finally get a license plate for the trailer two years after we bought it, I drove my old cow path route up the Marianna cutoff, across the Chipola and through Altha, finally teeing into I-10 at the Sneads exit. It's finally starting to look like it did in my heyday, before the storm, with foliage back and dead trees mostly cleared or rotted away.

I called Katie when I had cell coverage, and assured her as I always do that the world isn't coming to an end, or at least not right away, notwithstanding whatever she saw on Tik Tok this week.

I managed to make a little money on the interstate by then calling a couple clients needing immediate help, with the last call ending just as I pulled into Ag-Pro to pick up the certificate of origin for the trailer. I inquired if they sold portable sawmills, and the nice young man in the ball cap took my number and promised me a call back.

The drive from Tallahassee to Perry was lovely, as usual. Once I was here at Wyldswood I offloaded two very happy cats into the yard, then fed them and changed clothes for a quick nine holes at the golf course.

Walking into the clubhouse, a table full of old men played cards and drank beer while Cameron's latest girlfriend waited for him at the bar. Dara asked about Peg, and she and the old guys all instructed me to tell her hello. The club Christmas party is Friday night. Are y'all coming?

I blessedly had the course to myself, so it was a very quick round indeed. My usual insecurity and self-consciousness when Peg's next to me in the cart stayed quiet enough that I hit the ball a lot more consistently than usual, in a good way. I found myself on those lonely links talking to my mom for some reason, telling her how much I wish she'd seen all of this, these places and this life P and I have built together. It felt like she was riding along with me.

Approaching number six I stopped to refill my cocktail, and ran across our old friend Mike and a septugenarian named Willy out on the deck. Mike and I briefly caught up, and then he excused himself because Susan was home sick with a bad respiratory infection and he needed to pick up Chinese takeout for her over at that place next to the liquor store.

I finished my round, waved at Cameron and Billy and Richard and Hardy and all the rest of them, was instructed again to tell Peg hello, and drove home to the farm just a little too late to feed the fish. I snapped this shot from the front yard, looking across at the pond, just as the light faded away.

Feeling peckish after my golf game, I drove over to the Elks Lodge in search of supper. The kitchen was closed, but someone had created this massive pan of what I'd characterize as redneck shepherd's pie to serve at bingo night. It consisted of seasoned ground beef with canned peas, topped with instant potatoes with browned cheddar all over the top. Only $5!

But there was no way to politely scoop a plate of supper and not play bingo, particularly after Wendy and her table of matronly ladies saw me and beckoned me to play.

I'd never played bingo, honestly, so some instruction was required. I actually won one round, and left the pot in the middle of the table to pay for everyone's drinks. I told my only bingo joke, dating back to the Gulf War, and got a few laughs:

Why did they stop playing bingo in Iraq after the Air Force arrived? Because every time someone called "B-52", the whole room pissed their pants.

Well, it was funny at the time.

Eight o'clock feels awfully late on these short December days, so I took my leave at halftime of the bingo session, with pretty much the whole room asking when they'd see Peggy again, to drive back to the farm and call Peg. We talked for at least an hour, and the house felt a little less lonely for at least a few minutes. By 9:30 or so I was dead asleep.

I always sleep like a corpse here. Maybe it's the quiet, or the more leisurely pace of life in the country (at least if you're a do-nothing gentleman farmer with a great handyman and handywoman). After Slane started yodeling outside the bedroom window at 5:07, demanding to be let in from the chilly outdoors, I fell back into catatonia until after 8. If I want to feel better about that fit of sloth, I remind myself it's 7 in Panama City.

I made a cup of coffee and walked out on a brisk and breezy Thursday to visit with George and Beth as they loaded the remains of the greenhouse onto a trailer to haul away before the cows get here in a few minutes. I'm mostly at the farm today to write the seller a check. Don't tell Peg--it's a surprise!

Now Dean's curled up asleep in my lap, and my first call for work is in about fifteen minutes. I have a couple errands in town later, then a Zoom hearing to evict George's worthless tenant at two, then I'm back in the Mighty Columbia for the short flight home and supper with friends tonight.

Yep, there's no doubt I'm going to miss all this when it's gone.