REDUCED « Robin Writes

It’s no secret that I’d like to have more land; who wouldn’t? Even another 25 acres or so. And I’ve been wondering about the parcel next to us . . .

Finally, I looked up the owners to see if they’d be interested in selling. The answer was apparently yes, as the taxes were delinquent and, indeed, it had been sold two years ago but the new owner never filed the deed or paid taxes since. That meant that the property had reverted back to the original owners.

Who were deceased.

I’d like to thank Google and the Internet for their invaluable help in this matter. Ha.

Since when are the Whitepages NOT free?? I was going nuts trying to find phone numbers. Seems those don’t exist any longer, unless you want to get an account and pay a fee. No, thanks.

First, I searched for the name of the couple, which is when I found out he was a rather famous literary agent—how weird is that—and that he’d died in 1993. His wife, too, had passed away in 2006 or 2007. Since Mr. M was very well-known, his obit was still available online with only a cursory search. And they had two children . . .

So I emailed the agency, which still exists. Surprisingly, they answered right away but had no information to contact the family.

No, they did not offer me representation or a contract.

Next, I looked for the last known address. It had been sold in 2007.

But, the children’s names and addresses were on the deed transfer documents—bingo! However, people do move; we’ve done so several times since 2007. Four, to be exact.

So far, this search had spanned the eastern half of the country: New York, New Jersey, Missouri, and Illinois.

I went on Facebook (duh) and found someone who may have been the daughter; she hadn’t posted since 2009. I found several possibilities for the son, too, but hardly any of them had posted in years either. I mean, come on—once in a blue moon I’ll see something on TimeHop that tells me I didn’t post on Facebook THAT DAY. DAY, not years!

Finally, I found someone that I thought was a match for the son—so I emailed him and asked.

And he wrote back and said yes, he was, and he noticed I was a writer so, he asked, is that how I knew his father?

I WISH! This guy repped Arthur C. Clark and Philip K. Dick, among others. Holy smoke. I WISH.

But no, I told him I was interested in buying the property in Missouri. We exchanged a few emails. He’ll actually be in the state in a month or so, and he wants to come see it.

Keep your fingers crossed!

As a homesteader, you’re going to be at the mercy of the weather more so than your city counterparts. There will be things that must be done, regardless or rain or snow or wind or extreme temperatures, and it could be the difference between life and death—at some point, if not immediately—instead of just an annoyance.

Today, for example, it’s a little windy, a little chilly, and a lot rainy. Fortunately for me, I have plenty to do inside the house—or barn—but if I had animals at this point, there would still be feeding and care and for that I’d have to brave the weather.

But a lot can be said for planning ahead.

Normally, I do laundry on Monday. Today is Monday. It’s pouring rain, and I use a clothesline. If I wasn’t paying attention to weather, I might be going commando today, but I washed clothes yesterday when it was sunny and 70 degrees.

I also got the strawberry plants in the ground, and a small tree, and trimmed and mowed the orchard—because when the weatherman says, “Ninety percent chance of rain,” I tend to believe that we’ll get some precipitation. Probably.

Better safe than sorry!

The worrisome forecast is coming up, though: high chance of rain for the next ten days or longer. Not thrilled about that—it’s not good to work the soil when it’s super muddy and at this rate, my weeds will be bigger than my potato plants. And they’re looking really good!

Something else we have to consider around here is burning. I’m a fanatic about fire safety, or so my husband says, but I won’t allow burning if the wind is higher than 10 mph. Period. We still have some of that old house to burn down before we bury the rest, but yesterday the conditions were ideal: no wind, and rain in the forecast.

That fire is completely out now, good and proper, thanks to the downpour.

Trash burning, too, should be done in low-wind conditions. As I have to say around here, repeatedly, it does NOT MATTER if there’s a grate on top of the burn barrel to keep large pieces from flying around.

“It only takes a spark,” and all that . . .

The Little Things

I brought the laundry in yesterday and put it away, shaking out each piece to get rid of any lingering dust or whatnot. Last night, as I put on my robe, I noticed something green on the sleeve.

A tiny worm.

Cute!

I flicked him off and let him take his chances with the cat. Or the dog. Whichever got to him first.

I kinda feel bad. Kinda.

I’m certainly NOT going to “set him free” outside. Good grief. I’m sure there are plenty more where he came from . . .

But it got me thinking—my daughter is coming down on Friday. She’s never been here. She’s not what you would call outdoorsy or anything, unless that means lounging by the pool on a layover; she’s a flight attendant.

She is not a fan of bugs. Not. A. Fan.

When she was six, she saw a spider on the living room floor. I told her to step on it. She refused. I bet we spent at least 15 minutes arguing over that thing. I finally squished it and told her to take a Kleenex and pick it up and throw it away.

She refused again.

Another 15 minutes later, Spidey was in the trash and my daughter was in tears. So was I, come to think of it.

From laughing.

I mean, sheesh, a dead spider. Never did get the fear of spiders thing—and I was bitten by a brown recluse when I was 16.

Oh, and she will dispose of them now—twenty-five years later. But not without, I suspect, lots of shaking and shuddering and squealing.

I’m just wondering how she’s going to manage down here . . .especially if a worm gets on her sleeve!