I woke up this morning to the patter of raindrops on pavement in Moscow. It also rained a bit last evening, cooling off the night and cleaning the air. So lucky to get rain in Moscow in late August when much of the state is on fire. So lucky to have a cool, clear night’s sleep when folks in Montana are being asked to stay inside because of the smoke. So lucky to live in a place where live music is played by friends, there are more dance partners than songs played, and transportation late in the evening can be accomplished on bicycle. I live in a beautiful part of the world, I have family and friends that leave me constantly surrounded by love, I have work that is interesting and meaningful. Though living in a body that is more than half a century old, all of its parts still work. I have enough to eat, clean water to drink, and clear air to breathe. I cried this morning. Tears of gratitude for all that is my life.

It has been a “just right” busy summer. A little work, a couple of river trips. Weekends or just a morning on horses. Music in the park, and silence on hikes. Mountain runs and early morning swims. Sunsets and sunrises and lighting storms. Time with old friends and making of new. Sleeping under the stars, or in my tent, or in a camper, or in our bed. Raspberry pie and huckleberries and pesto making. Quick visits with Emerald and Sunday night skype dates with Jasper. And a man in my life that I find myself falling deeper in love with as each day passes. His love is so spicy sweet it can make me cry in the anticipation of knowing that someday I will lose him, too.

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A few weeks ago, Greg and I made an offer on some property. It is raw land. Half timber, half pasture land that has been in the conservation reserve program for the last 13 years. There is no house, no barn, no well, no utilities. For now, we will keep the house in the town of Moscow. The horses will continue to live close to Greg’s work at the wind farm. We will build infrastructure first, and then a home. Our first step and the contingency of the offer is to drill a well for water. Short of basic geological knowledge and the services of a water witch, drilling for water is all about luck. Will we find water? Will it be enough? Will we have to drill a second hole or will we get it right the first time? Will we have to abandon our offer and start over because water does not exist in this location? As we lie in bed on a weekend morning with an iPad to draw on and dreams in our heads, I cry. Because, surely, not finding water would be a minor inconvenience in a life where I already know I have hit the mother lode.

Rudd Road

Rudd Road

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4 Responses to Lucky

  1. Dad & Judi says:

    First, you bend a coat hanger in a certain way. Then you hold it so it points away from you while you carefully walk back and forth over where the water source is adequate but not too deep. This never worked for me so get someone qualified. He or she will be either very proud or very embarrassed. Somehow, I don’t feel like I have helped. Dad

    • wackywidow says:

      There used to be a guy here that was qualified, but he would only do it naked. Gathered quite the audience, I hear. Found an aspen grove and clay soil yesterday. Bodes well for water of some kind.

  2. Jean says:

    Here in Michigan, surrounded by the Great Lakes, it’s easy to take water for granted. I wish you luck finding it were you want to live.

    It’s nice to see a widow’s blog where the widow has come so far in her journey and can find so many things to be grateful for having in her life. I’m sure it didn’t come easy to get to the place you’re at. Thanks for sharing your story.

    • wackywidow says:

      Thanks Jean.

      Anything less than gratitude would be a complete insult to the man Jim was. After reading your blog, I know you get this. Take care, and wake up every day with the covers under your nose, look around and say, “I wonder what today will bring?” And then, when the sun is going down, stop, and say “I’ve done enough for one day.”

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