Officially, we won’t be country bumpkins in three days. The big move-out is on Friday. Some straggling stuff will still need to be hoofed over to Port Stanley. But for all intents and purposes, on Friday we’re out.
This place and I never had a chance to bond. Moving in was such a massive letdown that was hard to get over. Filthy doesn’t describe it. The fairly new washing machine was so full of crud, I could only conclude that it had last been used to wash rocks. It took three of us scrubbing for more than half a day to make the stove and fridge worthy of touching food. We’re leaving it in much better condition than we found it. The new owners are excited and I’m excited for them. And I’ll miss some aspects of country living.
I’ll miss the quiet. It’s a quiet so profound that it’s loud. If you’ve ever been in a perfectly quiet surrounding, you know what I mean.
I’ll miss the landscape. It looks as if we live on a 200 acre farm because we’re surrounded by massive fields. I’ll miss looking out over it and spotting a deer ambling toward the woods.
I won’t miss the dust. Anytime someone passes by on the gravel road, or the farmers turn over the fields, the house gets full of dust. Ugh.
I’ll miss the riding lawnmower and the tractor. Derek has wanted a tractor all his life. He hated to sell it but it had to go. The riding lawnmower served us well for many years and a few lawns. It’s going to a big property north of Toronto, where it will be able to fulfill its destiny.
I won’t miss the wide selection of bugs. Flies, oh my word, the flies. Flies are common in old farmhouses. It took three professional sprayings to finally get rid of them. When we first moved in it was like a horror movie. There are ticks. One latched onto Derek but we got it off before it tried to burrow into him. Weird little bugs I’ve never seen before appear sometimes.
We recently had a bee problem for a couple of weeks. Bees started appearing in the house near no visible entry point. A round, fuzzy spider like I’ve never seen before hid under the lip of the recycling bin. No matter what I did, it wouldn’t come out. I tossed that bin on its side and kicked it. Sat it upright and pushed it so it bumped up and down hard. That horrible creature hung on through it all. I finally had to admit defeat and leave the bin out for Derek to bring in. Spider: 1. Lisa: 0. Later, I saw its cousin on the step when I was watering the flowers and I tried to drench it. Damn thing gave me the finger – eight times!
I’ll miss Ed, the meat guy. Ed drives out with his truck full of freezers holding meat, seafood and all sorts of frozen things, from Home-Tyme in London. High quality. Great service.
I’ll miss the beautiful portico that Derek built all by himself with no plans or assistance. It was an early pandemic project, when wood was still plentiful and affordable. It is a grand entrance compared to the wobbly little deck it replaced.
More than the bugs or the creaking floors or the dust, I won’t miss the dreaded shit-birds. Their noisy meetings on the portico roof. Their butt-bombs landing on the entry stairs. The way they dive bomb the beautiful hummingbirds gathered at our feeder. So long, shit-birds. I’m sure I’ll meet some of your sea-faring cousins on the beach at Port Stanley. I’ll be sure to wear a hat.