Five months ago was my first week here; this week is my last. Later I’ll have the luxury to reminisce, analyze, sculpt my memories—for now there’s too much to pick and too much to pack. Friends have wondered whether I’ll pine for this paradise…even now, the window frames the farmer harnessing the horses for the plow, the trees rustling in the sauntering wind of autumn. Will my soul shrivel as I slink to the suburbs which spawned me?

[whispered] (The truth must out. Forgive me, John Seymour…)

If the future held only pavement and parking tickets, yes, my soul would be careening towards permanent raisinhood. But the immediate future holds a cozy, mouse-free home, my wife’s friendly family, a hot bath (perhaps several), months of serious writing, and my own computer. I am dreadfully excited.

I presume I’ll miss the farm and the forest, but look. just when the longing grows acute, it’ll be spring and we’ll be trekking around bargain-basement raw land (again) in search of cheap acreage and priceless neighbors. My indomitable spirit can manage a few months in conventional American luxury. Yes, luxury. Of that I’m convinced forever.

Not that cabin life was hell. Except for a few inconveniences which I’d have fixed had I been staying, it was comfortable. Honest. I realize I haven’t discussed it much, but since the next few months may be quite boring I’ll have ample opportunity to blog the highlights of this adventure. By the time I run short on memories, we’ll be starting our own homestead, and that may make all this look about as wild as an interview for a government job. Whoa.

Anyhow, I can’t even remember what it was like not to know the look of a pepper plant. Or why hay has to be dry. Or how absurdly simple it is to put a living plant into the ground. So many secret, dehydrated things within my heart have found water and flourished that I’ve no idea where the old thirsts were.

Truth is, it’s been like any good semester. I’ve learned more than I can say, but hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, it’s over!