Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

A Rambling Report From The Frequent Mover

We moved to a farmhouse in Vermont this spring.

The house is similar to the last two houses that we owned, but the land, the land, has me enchanted.

Every evening, I go outside and walk the borders of my two acres of flowers, fields and trees, even if it’s raining.

I feel happy as a child as I walk among the wildflowers at the property line, constantly taking pictures and whooping with delight every time I find another milkweed plant.
I shout as I find each one. “Milkweed!”

Butterflies love milkweed and I love butterflies.

Every walk is different as I find little surprises that make my day. A stray dandelion, a new butterfly, pink clouds, lilacs, crab apples, a new bloomer in the garden. Another blackberry plant, a new wildflower.

The flowers and trees that I’ve planted over the last two months are thriving and next spring, God willing, we are going to plow a field for vegetables and sunflowers.

I have squash and cucumbers growing in big pots now and they are doing better then the vegetables I planted in the ground.

I mixed cucumbers, peppers and tomatoes in the RV flower garden. I think the flowers are being mean to them.
I have a beautiful rock garden out front, plants hanging by the front door and plants growing on the back deck.

I love watching everything grow, so each day is a good day with new treasures to surprise me. This week, the first cucumber flower and then the teeny cucumber that followed.

Today, I found another baby cuke and it made me silly happy.

I love the magic of working with soil and seeds and reaping the results of all the demanding work.

Yes, gardens even on a small scale, require hard, physical labor.

I’m not getting younger, so my husband digs the tree holes, thank goodness.

He’s not getting younger either, and we wonder if we were crazy taking on a ten-room farmhouse that totally needs cleaning and cosmetic renovation, but we are having fun and taking it one room at a time. A riding lawnmower is in our future, for sure.

I split my days between the gardens and the house and it’s so exciting watching the farmhouse and the yard change.

This property is amazing and has three RV hookups, ten rooms, a garage, a barn and two workshops. We even have a back porch and an old-fashioned clothesline.It was for sale for two years and had many lookers. My (awesome) real estate agent told me tonight, one couple drove by recently and regretted passing it up. They called to make an offer. “Too late,” she told them. “I sold it.”

That’s how much we have improved the curb appeal in two months.

The Connecticut River flows past the front of the house and we are surrounded on three sides by my neighbor’s corn fields. No houses. Stores and familiar territory, including House 14, is in Lancaster, NH just five miles away, so it’s convenient, but it feels like we are alone in the world.

I swore after house 15, never again and I have spent the last year content in my twenty-foot RV, mostly in Florida. But the world is changing, and I don’t believe living here and there with no real home in this new climate is the best idea.

My baby RV will be my She Shed, my prayer room, my writing room. It’s all hooked up behind the farmhouse and I love the location. My own private RV park.

Wildflowers have grown under and around it and it’s so awesome, like a postcard.

It’s a new beginning for my husband and I too and in a world gone mad, it is my sanctuary and my happy place.

I started writing a book last winter, Fifteen Houses, but I had to change the title. Fifteen Houses, Plus One.

Praying my wanderlust is satisfied because this home is a keeper.