The Third Visit

I have walked the dog a lot in the area, now, through the local conservation area (beautiful walks under tall trees, a mud-coloured lake now closed to kayaking due to Covid) and serene, rolling farm fields. There are horses and goats a block away, and once I heard a rooster nearby.

There are some outdoorsy sorts of children in the townhouse complex next door, who padded over barefoot and barechested to peer through our bushes with a flashlight, looking for toads. They seem completely nonchalant about about wandering into a neighbour's yard. I suspect they are used to using our lawn as a vacant lot to play in. I don't have the heart to tell them I plan to install a greenhouse there.

We have given it a lot of thought and have decided we'll likely keep the church as a community gathering space – maybe offering meditation or writing retreats, weaving workshops, piping camps, whatever. We’ll get permission to put an apartment for ourselves in the lower level, and I’ll use the loft for writing and work space. We can retire there and get out of the city someday.

The yoga people were back in the trees behind us again. It’s a lovely view to begin with, with the manicured grass in the cool shade and a glimpse of a greenhouse, but somehow seeing people doing yoga made it all the better. I felt they were friends, even though I am just a beginner in yoga. When the weather turns cold, I will invite them to come use our big empty church.

Because we’re still under Covid restrictions, I haven’t met any neighbours yet, but several have waved. One older woman in particular intrigues me. She lives in a lovely yellow-brick Victorian house with a gigantic vegetable garden. She was out putting something in her garbage can and waved vigorously at me as I walked by. Later I saw what I presume was her husband, a lean, sun-burned man with a mustache, hauling feed and a big crate of water to their goats in a pen down the road. [Turns out it's her son.]

Our 21-year-old son came with us this trip. He’s a sous-chef and we wanted his opinion on the design of the kitchen. He explored up and down the stairs, peered over the balcony railing, took lots of photos to show his boss what weird parents he had, and pronounced himself pleased with our purchase. He has plans to wrest it from us and turn it into a restaurant. He kept marvelling over the lack of traffic, the quiet, the simplicity of life here. He went walking with me to explore the area and said with quiet satisfaction, “I could so live here.” And he picked up a real estate ad booklet at the grocery store to start looking for a place of his own in the area. He hopes to buy his own place in three years when he finishes school, but he suggested it be, oh, maybe across the street from us. I am quietly astounded. He has declared since his teens that he wanted to end up in Japan. 

I got up early Saturday morning to walk at sunrise, as the mist was lifting in a haze over the fields. The golden glow was amazing, the air fresh and alive with bird song, with a cool breeze I wanted to bottle and bring home with me. I passed the woman’s yellow house again, delighted to see the goats rising from the mist. I came home playing with Goats in the Mist as a potential title for a book.