it's always the last place you look

A man came today about shearing the Christmas trees. Maybe I made a mistake but I hired him on the spot. He is much more expensive than the herds of folks who just hacked my neighbor's trees. But, I liked him. I liked that we stood on the back porch, postponing heading into the rain, and he talked about down the road where he grew up and asked about my dogs. I guess you learn as you go out here. Seems to be the case. When I asked if he had a way to take credit cards he said yeah, any form of payment worked as long as it was good. Cash... check... you know. I had to ask three times if I could charge this service and finally had to explain that he needed a credit card reader for that to happen and he said, "Oh no I don't have anything like that." I don't know why I asked in the first place. He had called me earlier in the day to clarify the directions so he "didn't need to pull out his Thomas Guide." I think that's really why I hired him. But, this put me in a bit of bind, having to come up with quite a bit of cash quite soon. It sort of stressed me out actually but I wanted him to do the work, especially since it would involve time when I would not be home and the house would likely be vacant. At the end of long hours of planning and fretting I always go with my gut and see where it gets me. We'll see where this goes but it did lead me to thinking. I realized I'd have to really tighten my belt financially to get this done. And, why? Because Christmas trees sprout in the spring and if I wanted to harvest these this fall I'd have to really batten down the hatches and invest some cash up front for the hopes of getting more back than I put in come November. Seems like a gamble when you don't exactly have the cash in hand when you sign on the dotted line. But, this is what I bargained for when I moved out here and money.... mouth.... you know the rest. Anyway, this caused me to reflect on the things I'd be giving up for the next few months while I summoned up the capitol for this here little project. I was more impressed by the growing list of things I could do without having to spend a dime. Like, walk my dogs in the woods off the back of the house, or workout in my garage, sit on the wood swing and watch all the birds coming with the springtime, clear brush around the place, talk to my family on the phone, start the dozens of packets of seedlings eager for water and ground, play rugby with my friends, finally spring clean like I keep saying I'm gonna do. In a way it was a relief to know I wouldn't be able to do any of the larger projects that were on the docket for this spring or I'd have to be really creative and figure out how to do them with materials on-hand. I have a nasty habit of picking up things and leaving a bunch of just started or half-finished projects in my wake as I try to keep up with an over-active and ambitious agenda. These trees are truly the first thing to take care of around here and I realized I was probably biting off more than I could chew in trying to tackle so many projects this spring. I am embarrassed at how intensely I try to charge forward. I create mammoth obstacles to scale. Which, when you're creating your own path, why would you do that? It's dumb. Talking to Al last night I realized how blind I have been to simple, lasting and important threads that make up our time here. I focus on the details, on those things you check off, rather than those things that you nurture and watch and just sit with. I've felt so temporary where I've been before and so frantic to carve out some sort of meaning in whatever place I inhabited. It sort of took over all else in my life. Now that I have some sort of permanence I am still neglecting those same things, ironically. It's not projects or accomplishments that make memories or permanence. It's the people you surround yourself with, the spur-of-the-moment decision (and ability) to go somewhere or to go nowhere and do nothing that makes life heavy and satisfying. I am surrounded by so many good people, both here and back home. And I've stubbornly assumed I had to do this all on my own. This life, this house, this whole wild journey. I don't remember wanting to go it alone, it just happened that way that I pushed away those people who offered assistance or support. It's a sad realization but a necessary one if I can hope to end such a bad habit. It's not all as complicated as I first thought. We're here for such a brief, exciting moment that to not share it with those you love may be the biggest sin you can commit. I've neglected good friends and my family, a family I'm proud and grateful to be a part of. I've lived in this shadow that accomplishment is finite and that time for others would filter in as things were finished. It's truly embarrassing to put this to words at this point because I can now see how hurtful that mindset has been to those around me. This whole time I've been doing what I do, looking for something that's right in front of my eyes. I've always been the person who asks who's seen their sunglasses as they sit perched on my head. Or who has a pen when there is one behind my ear. I never thought I'd spend so much time looking for a home when it's been under the soles of my feet the whole time. It's the memories and the constant devotion of good souls. It's simple and it's beautiful and it's overwhelmingly present if you just stop looking.