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Did I mention that I really want to move south? Not Florida south, just south of slush, slop, muck and smelly, soupy midwestern late winter. North Carolina is my goal. Six hours to the ocean; six hours to the mountains, at least a day's warning of a hurricane. What's not to like? Last night at 6 p.m., my barn was damp but tolerable. I had spent $34 for bedding, stall-drying related underlaiments and the horses were comfortable. My DH had spent a $25 Menards gift card on a cargo sled to haul manure over the crusty, wet snow that the wheelbarrow wouldn't even look at. When I returned to the barn at 11:30 last night for the last hay feeding, the horses were standing in yucky pooling pee water and soggy bedding. All three stall areas are receiving the run off from the paddock. Not really anything I can do about it, especially without a tractor. I figure by real spring their hooves will be pickled. I know the barn is not finished, but any comment about the frustration resulting from said situation throws DH into a frenzy of misplaced defensiveness. He assures me that next year we will be way beyond any of this. I totally believe him. I know he can do it and I know it will be done. I just wish we didn't even have to think about it. Last week we sat, the two of us, each in our own nice 4WD SUV, tied together in our driveway, eight wheels spinning, smoke pouring out the back, the smell of melting rubber wafting across our property. Me yelling unkind things about our state being God-forsaken. Him yelling about me not having enough common sense to keep the wheels parallel to the bob-sled runs where they belonged. By the end of it, my daughters heard language from my mouth that they have not experienced before. Fortunately, I kept it to a complete minimum (one word) and was able to get right into fixing dinner without any fall out. He apologized for yelling at me. I explained that my anger really came from me being mad that I was failing him by getting stuck in the first place and then not being smart/cool/with-it enough to smoothly do the right thing so he would think I was smart/cool/with-it. (Isn't that funny? After all these years, I want him to think I'm cool.) Bottom line--I want to move somewhere that when you look out the window, you see something that is really wonderful. Not just nice. Really pretty. The area we live in is pretty boring for a long way in every direction. I want to go where it isn't gray for 3 months of the year. Where i can grow a garden without the season ending before the watermelons are ripe. Where there isn't slop for 6 weeks of the year and where there are still hard wood trees for fall. I know that place is out there... I'm getting out the atlas.
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