I think when I most realize I am out of place is when I get excited talking about something. I start sputtering a mile a minute about the pathway I want to put in or how I am going to fix the driveway or re-tile the bathroom. And then the person I'm talking to will give me that courtesy pause when I finish and move on to a new topic, or maybe an old topic that was being talked about before I got excited about fixing stuff. Maybe it's because I haven't actually fixed all that much yet and I talk more than I walk. But, it's not just fixing stuff. It's horses, or good starry nights, or fires. The stuff that gets me going maybe isn't the stuff this city is made of. Or maybe I just talk about it because I'm not doing it, often. I suppose it's pretty dry material. But, I just don't get into the bar scene. It's too much for me. And I feel like the bar-scene is why you live in the city. Otherwise, I'd just live here...

But, the trouble is is that people talk like they want the fires, the yard, the fresh eggs, the quiet, but then, when it comes down to it, I think they'd rather be in a bar or maybe watching TV. Not everyone, no. But, some, maybe lots, of people. And, even though I talk a lot, I do think it's what I want. If it wasn't, I am not sure what it is that I do want. It's all I've ever wanted.

Day 1 of the chicken coop

We got up at 7:30 to prepare for thinking about building our chicken coop. A handy friend offered to build the actual coop in exchange for beer and eggs. We gladly took him up on his offer. So, today our goal was to build the run, or at least the frame. We got our wood from North City Lumber. They offer a 10% discount if you pay in cash or check. I'd been meaning to start carrying my checkbook around more often but it seemed like such a relic I just didn't bother. Now I think I'll start again. There's something calm about counting cash or writing a check that doesn't exist when you flip a card out of your wallet. But I paid with plastic. Then we got the tamper and nails at the Ace in Maple Leaf (the best hardware store in the city as far as I'm concerned). No 6' wire. So, by now we're just shooting for the frame. At home we roll up our sleeves and start digging. It's way easier than last summer when we dug out the front garden bed. The grounds been soaking for six months and it was like slicing through cake. Really dirty, worm-ridden, clay-like cake. So that went well. Then friends came by and it was time to celebrate the first hole with a beer. And then a second beer. And then by making a fire to burn the mammoth pile of branches that were shed off the two poplars over the winter. And then we moved on to the creation of the second hole. This was a little trickier since its future location was right where I'd dug a hole last summer for a hammock post. I'd poured concrete, thoughtlessly, and the post hadn't set right and went crooked while I was reading in the hammock last August. So we pulled out the post, set a cinder block over the hole, and left it. Until today. So, one of my buddies, who up until this point has not bothered to take off her purse, gets a good grip on the tamped and wails into the concrete. Problem solved. Removing the concrete basically digs the second hole for us. Then we deliberated for about fifteen minutes about this massive hulk of a salvaged door we were going to use and decided it was too much. So, let's just not worry about digging the last hole for the other door post until we figure out our door plan. More work chipped away without actually being done. Then Molly and I try to put the corner post in. We're using a classic technique honed by my sister and I growing up on a hobby farm on Bainbridge Island. We put our post in the ground, two feet down, and dump some good rocks into the hole, tamp them down, being sure to keep the post level. Then goes in dirt, tamped. Then more rocks. Etc. This is more precise then it sounds. And when we were almost finished our post had turned about forty five degrees, irking my not-so-inner perfectionist. It was ripped out. This was the point when Molly finally got dirty, getting on her hands and knees to try to pry the jammed rocks out of the hole with her tiny fingers. Now, Tara comes over to save the day. She'd been attacking on of the bigger poplar limbs with a hatchet, successfully. A tidy pile of firewood was accumulating under the eve of the house. So, out comes the post. We begin trying a second time, get irritated, decide concrete is the best route and not something we want to drive to the store for, crack open beer three and disperse to putter around the yard before calling it a day. So, we have two two-foot holes in the backyard, a pile of lumber in the back of my truck, and a two neatly divided poplar limbs stacked by the chimney. And we took down last summer crap fence. All in all a successful day of minimal work on my part.

I'd always assumed that I would have to put the good stuff on hold while I got the urban experience out of my system. It's a trade off: proximity, jobs, and young people in return for noise, anonymity and pavement. But, after moving out to Lake City last July the country seems a little closer. I know it's still in city limits (just by eight blocks) but out here there are stars at night, only the noise of the occasional argument or jacked-up car, and more room than I've had in a few years. So, until acres of pasture and trees, this will kindly do. There are lots of small steps that make up a lifetime and I think there could be some good ones up here in Lake City. Especially now that's there's an Ace Hardware moving into the neighborhood.