The best part is the poet's, and I get to keep the memories, and dreams, and pictures -- not to mention the poems -- but I have a persistent fantasy of buying the family farm and turning it into a writers' colony.
This farm was timber once, a quarter-section, a pie-shaped wedge between Deer Creek and Elk Creek in Lewis County, Washington. Around 1920, my grandparents bought it. My mother was born in this house and has lived here almost all her life, all except her first few years of marriage. I was six months old when she moved back; my brother was two and a half. Back then the house had a long front porch with flower boxes and sweet pea vines. My dad loved this farm. He would never, never have left.
So far, the only people to make a serious offer on the place wanted it for the timber. Wouldn't it be nice if a family wanted to raise their children here?
Or...two horses, a big dog, a writing studio in the orchard.