The long view...

 When we were house shopping in Maine from Memphis almost 20 years ago, we spent every Sunday morning with a cup of coffee for Chris, tea for me, and a few hours on the internet researching realty. I vividly remember the first time I saw the listing for the house we now live in. The photo was taken from the end of the driveway; snowbanks towered on either side, and a brilliant blue sky arched over the scene. The sturdy-looking home was deep in pristine drifts, and I was captivated, "Oh, honey!" I said, taking the long view and picturing myself living in the house pictured there. 

The main entrance to the house is actually on the side, and when one comes in, they find themselves in a small room that opens to the kitchen on the right. We call this room "the snuggery" because it houses our woodstove and is a cozy place. When we first moved in, we stuffed a sofa, television, and stereo in there so we could be near the stove. This was how things were arranged when Rachel was in high school. Early in her high school career, we began having Friday night dance parties here almost weekly. We would cook up a vat of food or order pizzas for a gang, and her friends would pile in. We would retreat upstairs, and the bones of this old house would rock as the kids played music full blast. Dancing and the sound of chatter and laughter would flow up to reach us in our room, making us smile. Many a Saturday morning, I came down to find teenage bodies asleep under quilts on the sofas and on the floor, a mountain of cast-off shoes teetering by the door as I stepped over prone forms and crept out to do morning chores.  One by one, sleepy kids would emerge from under blankets and filter out as their parents came to fetch them. I suspect I used to grumble as I cleaned up sticky soft drinks and washed dishes from the festivities, but mostly I was happy that this nice friend group called our place home base. 

Today Addie, one of the original dance party pals, popped in to visit with her husband and one-year-old son. They live in Nebraska now but kindly took the time to see us on their trip. We gathered in that same front room, and the Owlet and Vincent played on the floor and visited a bit. It was just cool enough out that I had put a fire in the stove, and the room was cheery and warm, filled with babbling babies and chatter as we caught up a bit.

 Listening to the conversation, I was suddenly taken back to the nights when the room was a haven for teens, and it occurred to me that I never could have imagined that some of those friendships would have lasted all these years and that now a whole new generation would be playing on our weathered wooden floors. 

This morning, while folding clothes in our bright laundry room, I glanced out the second-story window to see all five goats relaxing on Billy Goat Gruff Bridge. This structure was built with goat lounging in mind, and it does not disappoint. I love to see them there, playing or relaxing and chewing their cuds.  It was interesting to see them from this perspective.

As I made our bed, I glanced out one of the small windows in the front of the house. On this first day of October, the trees are beginning to change color. A glimpse of orange, where all was green the week before, caught my eye. 

From my vantage point of our office in Memphis, the computer screen filtered through the steam from my mug of Sunday tea; I couldn't quite imagine what life would be like in the stout white house listed for sale. But the view was filled with promise.