Bill and I are sitting out on the front porch as I write this. Here, in beautiful Morse Lakes, Bloomingdale, the sun is shining and the birds are twittering happily away. Off in the distance I hear someone using a leaf blower, and the first thought that pops into my head is this: next year I will be on the farm and there will be no neighbor sounds. No more Pleasant Valley Sundays.
My house here in Bloomingdale is actually really nice. I would tell you that I’m lucky, or blessed, but that’s not the truth. I worked hard to make it this way. It’s kind of a dichotomy – I will miss this house when we go. I can’t wait to go.
We were just discussing what a total shitbox this place was when I bought it. No landscaping, crummy driveway, the awful vertical aluminum siding, the crank-operated windows. And no badass front porch, either. We love the heck out of this porch. On sunny summer afternoons, the porch is our refuge. It faces east, away from the lake, but looks out over the front yard and across the street to the woods. Some days we see turkeys, other days it’s deer – even an occasional bear or fox.
There is a big front porch at the farmhouse. We will sure use it! The views will be different, and certainly lovely. As I sit here on my Bloomingdale porch, I find myself quietly saying my goodbyes. That’s silly, I’m not moving for another year. Goodbye, porch… Goodbye woods… I hope the new people, whoever they are, enjoy you as much as I have.