Fallow Ground
When we got the news that our offer for Old Goat Farm had been accepted, we were thrilled, scared. We so wanted to contact Greg and learn the names of ALL the birds, understand their proclivities, concerns, and vet info. Where again was the place he wanted to build a hugelkultur bed? We wanted to get to know everyone and everything.
(Even our mild-mannered indoor cat was excited. We brought him a feather which Greg had given us for him from Fred the peacock. Cliff was entranced, and destroyed it in days, rolling over onto his back and chewing on it with his legs kicking and his eyes crossed.)
Being married to an attorney, I have learned to shut my mouth when I most want to run it. The first rule is like RuPaul’s Drag Race: Don’t Eff It Up.
So we waited for the closing. And waited, checking Old Goat Farm’s Facebook updates. We saw the closing notice, read the sad messages from the friends, and hoped we would meet some or all of them.
Through our real estate agent, we sent brief, hopeful messages about continuing the traditions of Old Goat Farm. Dane has a deep love for Christmas and its trimmings, and was so happy to see Gary’s wonderful creations on the blog. “I’ll have to get back to baking,” he said.
Then we found out the septic field had to be relocated, so we conveyed between agents that Greg would know where best to put it. And we waited some more.
In farming, sometimes fallow ground is waiting ground, when you let it rest and rejuvenate between crops. It’s supposed to be good for the soil, but it sure is hard to wait.
