Moving the Playhouse

November sits quietly. She has nothing to prove. (Why do things in nature carry the feminine?) Even the tradition of Thanksgiving is a bit modest. We don’t have to buy stuff for the holiday, other than food of course; thinking about all the butter, sour cream and whipped cream purchased the week before Thanksgiving.

I should make a harvest wreath. And of course get out the ceramic turkey Grandma Barb painted. It’s plump and sits firmly in the middle of the autumn-colored table runner. It's comforting, as if everything is as it should be this November of 2024. And of course it isn’t, but traditions help us navigate change, accept passages, and perform the relentless adjustment and adaptation we must face as we live our lives.

The sun is coming in the south facing windows. On a cold November morning, just writing that makes me feel cozy. The clouds are sprinting across the sky, the angular sun sculpting the mountains with shadows.

Mark has been pushing, pushing, to get the calves weaned and home, the herd vaccinated, the young cows checked for pregnancy, treating for illness, getting the fences loosened for winter, in general getting a ton of work accomplished before we bring the herd home for the winter. Now that the irrigation streams are turned off, our crew can focus on using the day fully without the morning and evening chores of changing water. Luckily the summer days are long when the work is long. Now if Mark comes in by dark we actually have some time to relax. I re-upped our Netflix subscription for the next 3 months. Such an indulgent time of year.

I’ve been bugging Mark to move the playhouse his Dad built when our kids were little. When we started getting our own grandkids, I asked his folks if we could move it to our house. They said yes, but the actual move was a special kind of chore. This Fall it finally happened. It took two tractors and a trailer, two drivers, a few spotters. It took finagling through gates, and adjustment and readjustment to get it facing the right direction when we got it to its new home. 

Anita and Gary helped. Anita said it was one of their best days in a long time. It’s such a cute little building, and sturdily built. I’m reminded of the story of the “shingle shed” over to great grandma Bonnie’s house, now Seth and Leah’s. The tiny shack with wooden shingles covering the exterior was at her mother’s home, and was given to Bonnie, “only if it will be a playhouse for the kids!” But in those hardscrabble days, outbuildings were rare and covered storage so needed, that Eldro used it to store his saddle and other tack supplies. One episode of the habitual relinquishing of Bonnie’s “space” to accommodate her husband and the ranch.

Anyway, I got the playhouse and all the old toys that came with it including the stenciled bookcases built for Mona and the rocker of Anita’s when she was a little girl. The playhouse has now made the list of my most cherished possessions, of which there are only a few. The rest of my stuff is just stuff. This keepsake has a story, a history – a gift from the artisanal hands of my grandkids’ great grandfather. And though it's been cold outside, Emma has already served food from the mini oven and pressed cloth on the tiny ironing board. Thanks Gary.

Lou, Gary and Emma

and below with Anna and Seth

                    

"just a skosh more"

We made it!

A new home