A quiet place

Last August I moved from a loud, chaotic suburb, where endless construction noises made it extremely difficult to concentrate, to a hidden cabin on a large, mostly undeveloped farm in a semi-rural area. The difference that this change makes to my state of mind is hard to overstate... I always thought that I would feel frightened to live in a dark forest with no neighbors within screaming distance, but it doesn't bother me at all.

Certainly, there are bears, and snakes and coyotes - in fact, a four-foot rat snake slithered through our bedroom window within weeks of moving in and we had quite an adventure trying to gently scoop it up and get it back outside. And while I consider ill-intentioned humans much more of a threat than wild animals, the likelihood of one of those stumbling upon this place is so low that I've been able to relax. There are those nights when my Boston Terrier/Black Lab mix growls at something he sees or hears outside and that can definitely be disconcerting, but I have felt little reason to fear anything.



Instead of car alarms, I hear wind chimes. Honking horns have been replaced with the hoots of owls. The sound of rain drops hitting the metal roof are more prevalent than the yells of loud neighbors. And while we do hear the occasional siren or train, they aren't nearly as common as the contented moos of the cows in the pasture up the hill.

During these cold winter months I've been curled up beside an old wood stove drinking tea and reading book after book, but in the spring we'll have bonfires in the backyard, and pizza fresh from the outdoor cob oven, and friends camping in the field.

It's my little writer's/artist's retreat and I'm not sure how long we'll get to stay here, but I'm going to enjoy every moment.