The summer raced
by without a minute to stop and take a breath.
We finished harvest. We returned
to Atwood, once or twice to clean up and finish emptying the house. What looked like this:
now looks like this:
What should have
been one pickup load turned into two.
Where to put
everything?
Without time
to unload, off we went to Fort Collins to resume a search for a house. I think Grandma would have said, "rarer than
hen’s teeth." We did make an offer on one
we liked. Someone else made a better
offer, apparently.
Soon, I think,
Fort Collins will have a drawing for folks to get a house-hunting license. You will pay a big fee if you are a lucky
winner. There will be no guarantee of
getting a bag limit, let alone finding that trophy. Sour grapes.
Up the hill we
went to visit the grandson.
Another afternoon
of house-hunting didn’t uncover anything worth shooting. Back to the farm and the summer fallow. Some of it resembled a jungle, but no houses
hiding in it.
Three days later, it’s all better. Nearly an inch of rain pretty well guarantees
a good seed bed for the soon-to-be-planted wheat. Not all is unwell.
We came and saw
many houses, but no victory yet. To
quote the three stooges, “If at first you don’t succeed, keep on suckin’ till
you DO suck a seed.” Nyuck, nyuck,
nyuck!
Addendum: We may have found a house.
No comments:
Post a Comment