Posted October 12th, 2003 by Michelle

My life has become so strange that I have to grab ten minutes to write this blog whenever and wherever I can. Right now I’m sitting at the enormous dining room table at the farmhouse (chaired right now to seat twelve) and listening to two different conversations- one in the kitchen, between Tess and Jiffer and friends, and one in the living room where Lars and Babs and Bud are marvelling over the fact that there is a show on cable about the history of stone. Stone.

We rode the Harlem Valley Rail Trail today and it truly, truly, defied description. I won’t even try other than to say that the day was in the upper 60’s, the leaves are turning every shade of brilliant, and the company couldn’t have been much better. The ride was second only to minuature golfing and Go-Kart driving of yesterday. We were the only people left at the Go-Kart place, so the guy in charge told us to ignore the warning signs (no bumping, no crashing, no head-on collisions) and to take out all of our road rage on each other. “The gas pedal is all you need” he cried as he strapped us into each cart. Sean, Jordi, Babs, John and I tore around the course, slamming each other and catching air on the little hills. It was the most fun I’ve had in way too long.

After playtime Tessa cooked a spectacular dinner- onion soup, polenta, swiss chard, mushroom casserole and something beautiful and chicken. Apres-dinner was a rousing and contested game of celebrity (my team, as usual, lost) and then debates into the night about ousting our current administration.

Today I woke at noon, and every second I’m here I understand that it’s the last time I’ll see the farm for a while. It’s the last time I’ll see many of the people here as well, and a last taste of New York fall. Every second is precious to me, even if I’m curled up on the couch with old friends of Ian’s, doing exactly nothing at all.

The basil in the herb garden, planted this spring in a rainstorm, has withered and blackened as the leaves choose more colorful ways to die. One by one, each room in the farmhouse is being redone with brilliant blues and greens and new mattresses and curtains. Every time I come another space beckons to me, asks me to stay for a while and sit down to write. But I’ll be without friends all too soon, and I’m taking this time to be a joiner. Of course I will create a community in California, but it will take time. Less than two weeks now. It’s almost hard to believe.