Fear

Part of the farm woodlands

I've spent a great deal of time since buying the farm, arriving battled and broken, pondering emotions. Fear is one of them. Such a primal emotion, so intense and undying if left to it's own devices. It has an endless and ever-evolving lifespan. How easy it is to step from one fear to the next. And if by some fluke there's no immediate panic of you own you'll soon be presented with a variety via news, public place conversation, family, coworkers, friends. Often well meaning yet (IME) devastating to quality of life if absorbed on a steady, frequent basis.

There is a vast difference between people sharing difficult worry or events, discussing options, comforting one another, seeking solutions and the general, ongoing fear I'm refering to. What is odd about most fear that obsesses people if allowed to (myself included) is that it isn't personal event related. Rather it's woven of vague possibilities or lack of control - brought to attention by politics or commercials or facebook or weather stations or newspapers or such. Worst of all this sort of fear seems to reject any and all possible solution.

Like an itch that can't be scratched away, fear seems to endlessly replicate and as humans we drift (in many instances) towards allowing it to sit in the drivers seat - either by ignoring possible options - or if no solution is visible - letting it grip us rather than resist the damage it inflicts.

I know - I do. For years it ruled me with wild abandon. I'd hate to count the cumulative time I allowed it to steal from me (thinking of the potentially calm or happy hours it consumed) because I allowed it to. Handed it the keys. Opened the door to the drivers side of my mind. Then I seated myself in the passenger seat. As fear floored it, speed racing with my mind, dodging truth, avoiding solutions, hanging two wheels off the cliff edge of sanity, I remained in the passenger seat (without even buckling my seatbelt).

When the farm and I found each other people began to share with me how fearful they were that it was an ill advised idea (the farm) sharing their (well intentioned) fears. I was afraid. My checkbook was scared sh*tless. Banks and insurance companies were hysterical. Complete strangers feared for me (and shared their fears with me). I sensed I had to choose. Choose between giving the 'drivers keys' to fear and sitting meekly thru endless wild rides in my mind. OR I could begin to drive myself - at least some of the time. I chose the latter and it was, I hate to admit, a good deal more difficult to do than to say. As I began repairing the farm, putting her back together, I was determined to rebuild myself. Repairing both of us, to better than when we'd started  .

I began to watch less  (eventually little to no) news.  Cancelled the paper. Saw less of (or paid less heed to)  those who 'feared for me and my choices'. Because after all, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Tho the best help to me EVER in controlling fear (and I'd have it tatooed if I weren't a wimp, lol) is:  if you keep doing the same thing you've always done, you'll continue to get the same results you've always gotten.  Brilliant and true! I added new behaviours to combat fear, about something actual or imagined. When I'd wake up in the night in a cold sweat I'd make lists, look for solutions, beat fear back with a stick. I'd choose and try something, ANYthing to defeat what I was fearing because action IS control - results aside - doing SOMEthing is better than nothing (another newsflash for me, lol).

Little by little I gained ground against fear, useless lout that he is. At  least now he had to ASK for the keys. It was a start.  In the weeks, months and years that followed I began to teach myself to carefully choose (or avoid when appropriate) fear inducing interactions/events/input. Again I must stress, I'm not refering to listening or sharing real life concerns or problem solving but rather the vague-y, dark cloud-y, soap opera-ish, stock market-y, pharmaceutical-y, insurance-ish, chickenlittle-y sort of fear.

These days, I struggle still. Part of life. Part of living. Part of growing.
(what's that saying? If you're not a little afraid you need to try something new! lol)
But more days are calm, productive, content.  More hours are spent seeking solutions than worrying in a circle of indecision. More nites are filled with tired well earned sleep.

Best of all, while I haven't gotten fear out of the car altogether, I do have him locked in the trunk....

So many emotions in life - so many good ones. 
Try to move fear to the bottom of the list (or into the trunk!) whenever you can.

The Exact Moment

The one positive remnant, found swept upon the beach following any fearsome storm in life or nature is the unmitigated joy that evolves in the simple absence of the hardship.

 Opposing  realities changing position.
Power shifting.

Dominance exchanging place. 

Frozen shaking hands warmed near the fire.
Out of control free fall replaced with choreographed rhythmic steps.

Logic returning, declaring victory over anxiety.

Happiness, years absent behind a door both bolted and nailed climbing thru old house windows.

The exact moment - and there always is one -  you realize the intense pain has stopped. Attempting to recall when you last walked the floors, unable to sleep, so deep was the angst. Realizing with surprise there is no such recent night. 

You understand, dimly, that you've actually survived the storm, the tumult, the pounding reef. The fractured bones of your heart are perhaps knitting together, scars ever to remain, yet healing.

I thought intensely of this one day, observing a building storm. Threatening and promising simultaneously the rain was forming amid a crushing drought on the farm.

I thought of my struggle that day, a day that rested randomly amid the years of the pain of departure and the hoped for yet not arrived contentment. Gazing out that ancient window where I 'oft lingered seeking solace  when I could scarcely breathe for the intensity of emotion that engulfed and threatened my soul.

I watched this storm unfold and continued pondering it all....

Watching that day, I cautiously wondered if perhaps within this old house
I'd found my storm-shore haven. My safety. Where I was meant to be...

(excerpt from the ever growing pages/chapters of my

  humble attempt at a first book. The sum of which chronicles

the entire story: the why, how & adventure of how I came to the farm,

to life in farm country. Of what forced, what sent me seeking, finding, repairing

and hesitantly loving this once decrepit old farm. The journey that began at a time

when most are 'sizing down'. The tiny little massive huge sad wonderful scary brave

story of how I lost my mind and my heart and set off on my lunatic, ill-advised escape)

Sometimes You Beat The Bird, Sometimes The Bird Beats You

Notice the cute small bird on my planter?

Cute as a button and stubborn as a mule, lol!

This wee creature began a nest on the top of one of my
porch columns. Late in the season for nest creation.
Hers was well built, a lot of hard work. Mud, hay, moss. Impressive.
Still I had to dissuade her. An excellent location for her, not so much for me
or for the porch. Or screen door, or the windows, or the furniture or cushions.

I moved with decisive stealth and vigor!

I removed her nest before egging occurred.

I did so once.

Twice.

Three times.

FOUR times.
FIVE times

(while reminding her who was in charge here) lol

SIX TIMES OH MY GOSH LITTLE BIRD!

Then I remembered an old plastic owl that I'd had in the gardens, now in the barn. Out it came, to see if it could deter little bird, set up a sense of predator drama in her mind. I captured this picture of little bird confronted with big bad scary owl during their first beak to beak meeting...

(and yes there IS a PAINT can in the image, always a paint can!

I will perish with a paint can in-hand lol)

Little bird studies the turn of events.
She ponders.

She considers.

~~~~

What I did not catch was an image of the sight of little bird
not only sitting near to but snuggled up to owl
Oh little bird, you vex me, yet I admire your moxie!

Sometimes you beat the (little) bird

Sometimes the (little) bird beats you lol

 

(excerpt from the ever growing pages/chapters of

my humble attempt at a first book. The sum of which chronicles

the entire story: the why, how & adventure of how I came to the farm,

to life in farm country. Of what forced, what sent me seeking, finding, repairing

and hesitantly loving this once decrepit old farm. The journey that began at a time

when most are 'sizing down'. The tiny little massive huge sad wonderful scary brave

story of how I lost my mind and my heart and set off on my lunatic, ill-advised escape!)



As Tho They Were Long Lost Friends

The old trunk whispered 'save me' as I approached.

Surrounded by a lifetime accumulation of both the grand and the grim

she waited on the grass near the old barn.

She watched from behind the house for sale sign and hoped.

Longing to be useful, to be needed, to be wanted

(As do we all....)

You know of course that she came home with me lol

The moment the trunk entered the front room of the farm

I knew in the same way I had known I belonged with the farm that the trunk

had also arrived precisely where it belonged.

Under this lace filled window was found a perfect fit, each for the other.

They seemed to have belonged to each other, old house, window & trunk, forever.

(The same way it occurs with people and run down old farms sometimes).

Trunk was empty of contents when I bought her, but I sensed filled with stories.

Stuffed with adventures. Sadly I am not fully fluent in 'trunk-speak' but old house is...

I had the contented feeling that the old girl (my farm) and trunk immediately

began to share stories - of times past, of their people, of feeling lost & of being loved again.

I tried to eavesdrop, but alas could capture of their banter none.
(tho I could well imagine their tales of loss, of love, of life, were much like ours)

 It makes me smile each time I see them, now together

As tho they were long lost friends

found at last again.

(excerpt from the ever growing pages/chapters of

my humble attempt at a first book. The sum of which chronicles

the entire story:  the why, how & adventure of how I came to the farm,

 to life in farm country. Of what forced, what sent me seeking, finding, repairing

and hesitantly loving this once decrepit old farm. The journey that began at a time

when most are 'sizing down'.   The tiny little massive huge sad wonderful scary brave

story of how I lost my mind and my heart and set off  on my lunatic, ill-advised escape!)

PS Trunk holds all the  coming and going shoes, boots, sandals and the like wonderfully!

I chose to only gently clean her, leaving all the age and adventures

of her long life which she wears gracefully.

Be Nice Or...

I was out in the barn today looking at this sign I hung on his old weathered walls the year the farm became part of me and I became part of the farm. Difficult days those were. Lots of 'feeling overwhelmed' by life. Disappointment. Waves of fear.

Many hours of wondering if I had actually lost my mind and just didn't grasp the fact yet. I found it difficult to be patient, almost impossible to feel kindly about anything.

I bought the sign. And in the crumbling leaning towering old barn up high on one of his walls I hung it on bent nail (I admit to wielding a hammer badly). You'll see the sign in the image below ~

I hung it for myself, as a navigation point for my newly forming world. I wanted to revive the part of my heart that believed in niceness, that believed in kindness. I wanted to step back, step away, separate myself from the past few years in which most of what I'd believed about work/career/humanity/life in general had been challenged at best and broken at worst. I wanted to again live my life just as the sign said:

"be nice"

("or go away")

In that moment, standing amid falling outbuildings, teetering barn, bedraggled farmhouse (with broken windows and bales of hay in the basement ~ yes, the basement) I realized something clearly. I realized that in buying this place, against all sense and caution I'd made a stand to replant my life. I'd decided to regain my soul, to begin life on a radically different path.

Exhausted  and fearful yet oddly calm in that moment. Taking one last glance at the sign I honestly understood that contrary to all logic, I was where I belonged. I sensed that perhaps I wouldn't have to "go away" because I somehow knew that within these tired old structures and amid these many rolling acres "nice" and my life were just waiting to be re-found....

Old House "Fix~math"

So there we were, this tired old house. Tired me. Her paint peeling, my nerves and sense of 'how life would be' unraveled.

We clicked. We bonded. She seemed resigned. I was resigned (tho to what I didn't know ~ I was simply out of desire to battle my current much loved homes circumstances). It seemed as tho this old house and I had  somehow been destined to help each other out of parallel hard times. If a house and a human can share a feeling at that moment of meeting we did.

An old rundown house is a frightening, fascinating, worrysome, wonderful, horrible very good thing.....

And old rundown house requires 'fix~math' - to fix anything at all simple double the calculated cost and tripple the time expected to complete the repair, lol.  Divide it all by the anxiety involved and multiply it by the pride you feel with each inch of progress you achive together as you gain each  final outcome. Progess made each season, each year. 

Magic and menace, joy and despair, frustration and jubulation. That is the thread that runs thru the tapestry of reweaving an old house. The same thread that runs thru a life-plan that has to be ripped out and restarted.

Clapboard by clapboard, caulk to paint, hope to dream.  She and I have grown to be friends over the years. Sometimes she still pisses me off but far more often she's the best kind of friend ~ always there, giving me whatever it is I need.  I love her. In a different way than I love my first home, the home my husband and I built from the ground up. And I think old house has grown fond of me.
I'll have to ask her......

Step by step she & I undertook the journey of finding our way
SEEKING CENTER again ~ together

I Shouldn't Have Been Surprised

No, not surprised at all. 

Many if not most of the large decisions, changes, events in my life have unfolded (or snapped me in wet towel style) unplanned and unbidden. Happily the majority improved my world. Gave my life more depth. Climbing up and down the emotional ladder rungs from confusion to insanity aside lol there's little I'd change.

This point in time, these circumstances were vastly different and intense. Challenge mixed with a heavy dose of "interesting" rolled out on the hard surface of my anger and defiance. I don't mind (now) admitting that I was emotionally at sea. Not a place I have often, if ever, found myself standing.

Trying to relocate 'center' - my center - my heart in fact ~ in this old house began from things broken. Our meeting was instigated by heart-whiplash. Never planned. This old girl never danced on the edges of any current agenda. She was on no list of mine. She was not the plan I had. Not even close. Not in the same galaxy not close.

Me. This old house. Both seeking. Both searching. Both needing. A few threads of hope hung like threadbare curtains in our storm battered eyes on the world. Her large ancient windows were dark and broken. My heart~soul~windows were equally battered dark and bruised.

Both of us found ourselves at far beyond weary. She seemed ravaged to her timbers.  My visible exhaustion was deeper than bone. I felt as tho mice were chewing on my soul.

The first time I saw her she seemed to be expecting me.

But I shouldn't have been surprised.....
No, not one bit.