The essay “Arriving” was originally published on Medium.com
The barn at Flynn Creek farm
We allowed four days to drive from Park City to Verona, WI. It was actually three days of driving with a twenty-four hour stop in Denver to spend time with our daughter. The drive was necessary as we would need a car on the farm and it’s the easiest form of travel with a dog. It also provided the ability to transport some household niceties as well as boxes of books and paperwork. Then there’s the fact that John and I hadn’t done a road trip in a while and we were looking forward to it, as long the bulk of our time on the road occurs over a weekend when he has no work calls or stress, it is a good time.
But the four-day passage also seemed apropos for the enormity of this transition. From a place and time of planning out the farm to the farm itself, on the precipice of spring, nature coming to life, and a small crew of employees ready to report to work. My friend Jeffrey inspired me with a sentence in his novel in progress, “Arriving is an important part of any journey because that arrival will ripple out through the rest of your visit. So, think about how you want to arrive before you depart.”
The truth is, before departing I was keyed up, as I can get for the days leading up to any big event. There was the act of shutting down one home, making sure our car was in good shape, emptying the fridge, removing winter tires, collecting odds and ends. Trying to look into a crystal ball to predict what I would need. A future trip to New York City and Boston would complicate the packing, otherwise work pants and t-shirts were all I needed on the farm.
The construction of our greenhouse was behind schedule, and I was preparing for on-site supervision of a building project that was at the mercy of the municipal authorities as well as the weather, not sure which was more unpredictable or frustrating. And I must admit to the sense of doubt I was carrying. Doubt because our original budget was laughable, a cruel reminder of our naiveté. Doubt because, of course who were we to buy a farm, to move to a small town where people look at me side-eyed, counting the days until this was all a big failure.
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