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Still Moving And Packing... With Ghosts.

No visit to the off grid passive solar prefab this weekend.
We packed and headed out in the other direction to
the In-Town Ramshackle Farm House.

The weekend could NOT come soon enough. This move will not END soon enough.
I'm ready for summer. I'm ready to take a little time off after leaving this horrid uncultured boring-burbia place where neighbors shun you over violets in your front lawn and hens in the back.
"What the cluck is wrong with Those People?!?"


Wednesday is our last day at the mid-century modern.
Coolio mid-century in the snow.

At 2:00 p.m. I will drive out to the Pipsqueaks' school, pick them up in a car loaded with dogs (and this time, with six chickens and a yowling feral cat).
We'll drive out to our beloved passive prefab home... as usual.
Except that when we arrive... to our familiar belongings, to our prefab home still not quite finished but almost done... it will be The Rest Of Our Lives.

Sister asked, "Aren't you getting sad? Won't you miss the mid-century modern?"
Standing on the front lawn, I paused thoughtfully, glanced at the neighbors' careful, careful homes, each with green, green overly-soaked grass [cut on a dias], turned, and just looked at her, blankly.
I'm sorry, mid-century modern. You didn't deserve to be left here.

Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers:
the snare is broken, and we are escaped.

Psalms 124:7


[RIP Beastie Boys' MCA...]

Speaking of fowl... 
I *might* have spent my birthday hosting Richmond's 3rd Annual Coop Tour...
Oh, Boring Neighbors: look at all these vagrant undesirable miserably sustainable people (having soooooooo much fun)!

So now, we move to the prefab home. Well, with some stops in to DC / Deltaville as we finalize construction.

Speaking of Deltaville...
We spent the weekend moving more loads hither and thither.
At the In-Town Ramshackle Farm House, things are looking pretty wrecked.

But the peeling and scraping and hauling and mauling reveals beautiful happy farm house bones.
Now we just have to shore her up for the next 200 years.

And, according to our friends scraping and painting away:  
There's a ghost at the Ramshackle In-Town Farm House.

I: "Well, what. WE ARE VIRGINIANS. Of course there is a ghost!"

According to Tony, she leads them down the staircase. And takes their tools. And slams windows. Sheesh.

All I want to know is, "DOES SHE BABYSIT?"

Apparently at least she has the sense to dress well in green gingham. As long as she is elegant she will be left alone. If she shows up in H&M then I am pulling the plug!

My dear NYC friend V rolls her eyes and retorts: 
"Can't you just have muggers like we do here?" 

[Well what do you think we have Guard Chickens for?!?]

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