Darrell is coming this morning. I’m sot sure why but I suspect he’s coming to build the vegetable garden. That’d be super! Only the first load of soil has arrived for the new lawn so there’s no point in his being here for that. More soil arrives this afternoon and tomorrow and the weather is perfect for spreading the soil.
Once the soil is spread, I have to roll it to compact it and then spread the seeds. I’m Googling like mad to learn what to do and how to keep birds from eating all the seeds.
And this afternoon the water hauler comes to fill my hot tub with pristine new water. I can hardly wait for the spa to be back in working order—I, who conceptually loathed hot tubs, have certainly come a long way around!
When the lawn and vegetable garden are done, I will have totally transformed this lot. This place came with bare land. The only things growing here were ferns and one Rhododendron. That poor Rhodo suffered such neglect, too. I can tell from the branches. But now that plant is treated like royalty; she is the most glorious bush now and getting fuller and fuller with leaves.
I’m afraid to weigh myself; I’m afraid to quantify my growth. I’m afraid to give measure to the weight of my self-indulgence.
My brain snapped in April of 2016 and I started having so many seizures every day that my docs suggested I not use the stove. I lived right downtown, so I started eating every lunch and dinner out.
That was phase one of my illness. Seizures dominated my life but in the Spring of 2017 they started diminishing in both frequency and severity but my love of cooking and baking was gone. I kept eating out a lot and then in September I decided to move.
My decision to move was sudden, sparked by the online sight of this place in which I live. All through September, I ate out as I packed up all my stuff and I started eating sweets “to reward myself” for the effort it took to pack.
Then when I got here, I kept the rewards coming because I faced so many challenges moving to life semi off-grid and with so many power failures. I moved October 7th, just in time for winter. And there were two “pie ladies” here who kept me very happy with an endless and delicious stream of rewards.
And now I look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. It may be time for action.
It’s August 30th! Summer flew by; it always does. October 7this my first anniversary of living on Gabriola and I can honestly say that I now feel “of this place.”
Perhaps it’s the incredible amount of work I’ve done on my property or the volunteering and/or relatively successful adaptation to off-grid life. Maybe my beloved animals are a vital part of my feeling of being settled. Regardless, I feel very much at home here and I can still easily and proudly say that I’ve not for a second regretted my move.
It feels good.