The Muddle of Moving

Early mornings have the misty look associated with autumn but day after day the temperature surges into the high 80's F with a too heavy dose of humidity.

In spite of prolonged heat some of the trees have a slight cast of autumn color.

The tulip poplar outside the kitchen window is one of the earliest trees to show fresh leaves in springtime and one of the first to begin losing them in slow drifts in late summer.

Autumn in New England is the standard by which I rate fall beauty;  here in south-central Kentucky we don't have the sugar maples which in more northern regions set the hills ablaze in September and early October with shades of red from scarlet to near burgundy.

Our hickories turn to tarnished gold, the oaks--always the last to shed their leaves--move slowly from green to a satiny brown.  

The seemingly interminable rains of September have kept fields and foliage green longer than usual.

We have had no chilly evenings or crisp mornings when the scent of neighborhood wood fires hang in the air.

The hummingbirds are still with us, drinking deeply at each visit to the feeders; cardinals flash through the hedgerows and I heard the raucous voice of a bluejay yesterday as I watered plants on the side porch.

The house is in chaotic uproar.  Our buyers had to be out of their former home two weeks before the closing scheduled for their purchase of our house. It didn't make sense for them to rent a storage unit and move their household plunder twice, so we cleared several rooms which are now stacked with their boxes and displaced furniture.

Much of our own furniture and packed boxes have been conveyed up the ridge to the storage trailer on our property. 

Jim has made a space for his chair and the TV;  the cats are indignant at the removal of sofas and beds which were to their liking.

I tend to wander about distracted from sorting and packing by the necessity of responding to some query, searching for some object which may--or may not--be still in the house.

Daughter Gina spent a day emptying the pantry, then tackled my clothes closet.

I have reached a point where I am rather easily persuaded to part with anything from seldom worn clothes to spare mugs, small decorative items.  Numerous bags of 'stuff' have been lugged off to the charity shop in town.

I obstinately cherish homely sweaters, favorite books, vintage oddments.

Coreopsis spilling over the retaining wall, sodden with repeated rain.

Pouring concrete for the basement of the new house--an undertaking delayed by rain. 

Jim, who did his own concrete work for years, is not pleased with the final product.

It would seem that the contractor [who wasn't present for the pour] was spreading his resources too thin--too few workers to properly handle the job.

Jim and our neighbor/renter pitched in to keep the work going.

The camper trailer which will serve as our home during construction of the new house is tucked at the end of the lane.

Before I began lugging in armloads of bedding, books, kitchen ware, etc, the camper appeared roomy and tidy.

I arranged books that I wanted accessible for the next several months in the right hand cupboard.

Several days later, going in with more plunder, I discovered moisture on one bookshelf--7 paperback books were waterlogged.

We discovered that a seam in the roofing had cracked and been poorly repaired, so that moisture from the A/C unit on the roof dribbled into the cupboard.

Jim quickly sealed the crack and all seems well--except I am cross regarding the damage to books!

At present the farmhouse no longer feels like home.  Curtains and pictures and the small peg racks I made have been taken down and packed.  Quilts on display and on the beds have been washed and carefully stored in large plastic bins.  Items for housekeeping in the camper have been crowded into what may be temporary places. 

We are still preparing breakfast and evening snacks in the farmhouse kitchen which is a welter of half-packed boxes, desolate piles of items which have yet to find their landing--things which don't fit well in boxes, don't belong in any reasonable category.

We head for the cafe on the corner most days to order a pizza or a hot sandwich with fries.

We hope to be out of the farmhouse by mid-week, leaving me a few days to thoroughly clean the kitchen, hoover up the last wisps of cat hair.

The cats!  

A priority is building a safe 'yard' so that the 'house cats' can go out to stretch and air themselves without getting confused and lost in a new setting.

The camper has everything one could desire--even a tiny clothes washer and dryer--but where do we situate the litter box?

I tackle the remaining tasks in determined bursts, flopping briefly into a chair when it seems I can feel vital energy draining from every muscle and sinew.

We will get through this!

The weather will moderate to something more in keeping with October;  I will sort the living space in the camper; the cats will settle in.

Building materials will be delivered and a new house will begin to rise.