At the gym, Aaron and I discussed a David Brooks column in which he talked about our dependance on “devices” — that we should try to re-learn the childish ability to be deeply in the present. Aaron told a story. He’d been at a wine tasting that weekend at a winery on the Applegate river. He’d wandered away from the gathering and sat on a rock watching the river, saw a snake swim across the river, emerge, and settle on a nearby rock. An Hispanic family was enjoying the sunshine nearby, a couple of kids. Aaron picked up the snake, a large bull snake, and the children approached him. At first they were repelled, but he encouraged them to come closer, to touch the snake. They were shy, but gradually came closer, and he said he loved watching their faces bloom with wonder and joy as they encountered the animal.

This seemed to capture the attitude we’re discovering toward our new land. Except I wouldn’t use a snake as a metaphor for anything I do!

We sat in Larry’s office going through a seven page application for for a septic site feasibility study until we had gone as far as we could without help from Benton County. Later, we sat in the kitchen while I filled out the “good” copy of the form in ink. This included a hand-drawn map, and I did feel a bit like Christopher Robin making a map of treasure for Pooh.

The next day, we wanted to be on the road to Corvallis by 7:00, and almost made it, even with a quick stop at Starbucks, and a visit to the hardware store on 17th for stakes. We had to deliver our part of the request for site feasibility to the realtor, John Shelton, who has to collect signatures from the present owners. First, however, we wanted to get on the property to decide where we’d like to have the house, and thus the test holes.

We managed the electric fence disconnection easily, and noted that the ground has dried significantly. Now it’s hard to walk across the cow-trampled earth, hardened into lumps and holes. But we did come to a stream to cross, and found what we thought a likely spot. Larry got across, and turned to help me. Except that my foot slipped off the grass mound and I plunged in up to my knee. This threw Larry off balance and he crashed backwards. Scary moment as he lay on his back, but it seems he just bruised his tail bone. I swear we will not go again without a length of plank to lay across this treacherous water way. Jenny’s always telling us not to fall, as if we’re old people, or something, and it will be best if she doesn’t learn about this little episode. By the way, the water didn’t reach over my boot top, so that was a bonus.

Up the hill, we located the best place for the house (we think now). Larry thought it would be nice to be more-or-less under one of the large oaks, but to accomplish that would compromise the view. Might not be too smart to build within range of any of those huge branches!

Turned out to be almost impossible to pound the house stake into the ground, but he did his best, and I tied a strip of cloth to act as a flag. We turned to find that we’d acquired a most respectful and curious audience. The cows had joined us and lined up in a neat semi-circle to watch us.

Loving the cows. When we left the stake, they eagerly milled about it. “Hmm … must be something to eat? No, don’t think we like the taste of that flag thing. Hey, let’s all run as fast as we can over to that other pasture. Last one’s a rotten egg!”

In pounding stakes for the test holes, Larry discovered that he could use the work of the ground squirrels to assist, and easily lodged the rest of the stakes where we wanted them. Then, as we were on the clock, we made a quick descent back to the car along one potential road bed. We were a little shocked to find a thriving patch of thistle down on the flood plain. We’ll have to deal with that soon and comprehensively. Not sure there’s a TNC approved method to kill the nasty weed, but I am my father’s daughter, and we’ll find a way.

Blog problems: Haven’t figured out how to include photos. Must call help line. I want to show you the cows!

Today we bought a farm. Not “the” farm, “a” farm.

And we don’t quite own it yet, and we actually started the process several weeks earlier, but I want to record the process, so I’m calling the indefinite period of time from then to now “today.”

So we’re now farmers now? Larry doesn’t want to name what we will own a “farm.” Let’s say “property,” then. On Llewellyn Road in Corvallis, Oregon. One hundred and one acres. There are cows grazing on the land, but they are not our cows. A field of grass seed ripens along the road, but it is not our grass seed. These farm-like appendages have been leased from the former owners, and we will see if we continue these relationships.

And what will we call this place? I think it’s like a baby, just born, who will have to wait for its name. Right now, we’re not sure what we’ve gotten ourselves into. Tonight, Larry said “it’s Jane’s place,” and I said No. Please don’t say that. It makes me fear that, in his mind, it’s one more madness I’ve dragged him in to. Maybe it is, but . . .

How to understand what has happened? Start back at the airport in Hawaii after seeing David and Caroline, where, having gone through security and steeled myself for the plane trip home, I suddenly knew that what I was returning to, my gorgeous condo in the Crane, was somehow not home. Home would be a small farmhouse on a country road with an apple tree in the front yard, a covered porch, comfortable old furniture and a real fireplace.

I spent the hours on the plane comforting myself with this fantasy. And for the next weeks, I talked about it, laughing, to friends, maybe to the kids, though I can’t remember that. I did say something to a friend, sitting in a theater for Chicks, and she astonished me by saying she understood. “I’m not home yet, either,” she said.

Of course, I also talked to Larry about my little vision thing. To my surprise, and deep pleasure, he got it. We had, as it happens, long discussed the idea of finding a piece of land somewhere, learning it, restoring it, in a sort of Nature Conservancy paradigm. This is what we might talk about while driving through Oregon landscapes, but don’t imagine we’ll actually execute.

And let’s face it. We’re pretty old to be leaping into — okay, we’re seventy-four. Each, that is. Seriously? Friend Tommy Thomsen said this what you do in your fifties. But we didn’t, so here we are.

The land, which we have now named The Hundred Acre Wood (plus one), is profoundly beautiful. As I hope you can see from the header photo. Ancient oak trees, grasses. Oh yeah, thistles and blackberries, too. A resident red-tail hawk. A fox! Lots of birds, as yet unidentified. And of course, the cows. There’s a derelict house on the property, which will have to be torn down (Will has begged us to wait until he can be there to watch).

My intention is to record this adventure as it happens, but I’ll have to warp time a little to bring the events up to the present. This is my first blog on a new site, new manager, and I’m not sure how it will look. I just clicked “preview” in order to proof read, and the header photo did not appear. Will it show up when I check “publish?” We’ll see.

Next issue: We try to plant stakes and meet the cows.

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