Indian Summer, Premonition, and Forward Thinking

Hippo still loves tractors. Until this weekend he has been able to either ride a tractor or inspect one thoroughly nearly every day through the spring, summer, and fall. Our Indian Summer is officially over, it snowed two inches this weekend.

How can you resist a pile of leaves like this one?

Each year, since 2001, November 1st hits and L wakes me up at the crack of dawn rummaging around in the basement to find a shotgun to clean to prepare for the pheasant hunt. Unfortunately, this year he got one.

Unfortunately, this is not the end of this unfortunate story. That morning, November 1, 2009, I awoke to L madly rummaging around for a shotgun, and piling on layers of warm clothing. He excitedly reminded me he was off to hunt. I rolled my eyes, and rolled over back to sleep. I then dreamed a disturbing dream: L shot his first pheasant in more than eight years, he called me up to exclaim the exciting news to the only person in the State of Utah who abhors hunting (except the ones in Sugarhouse) and to tell me that he is not coming home right away because he was stopping off at the local taxidermists for a consultation over his recently shot game. Then, I dreamed he displayed the stuffed bird on our mantle for everyone who entered into our home to exclaim over as I looked on in horror.

I woke up and quickly forgot the dream. I began my daily routine and at about 11:00 am L called to say that he had shot his first bird in more than eight years and he wouldn't be home right away because he was stopping off at the local taxidermist for a consultation.

If you think you know where this is going...

I told him that I would divorce him if he came home with a stuffed bird. OR, he could spend his Christmas money on the project just to have it burned, by me, the second he left the stuffed bird unattended.

Needless to say, a stuffed bird has not been placed on our mantle.

What will we do when we no longer have a farm to roam? We met with a real estate broker this week. Selling our home is a large bite to swallow and warrants its own post, to come.