Finally Grown Up

What did I want to be when I grew up? I can only remember that I wanted to have children, and live in Chesham, England, specifically at Grove Farm! Otherwise, I was so unfocused that I tried not to think about growing into adulthood.

But it comes, whether you're ready or not.

I'm officially grown up. When you hit sixty you have to admit to being an adult.

I have created, unthinkingly, an idealized version of Grove Farm here in Virginia: No silage fermenting in the bunkers, which my nose remembers so vividly, no pigs to flee from in the big pasture which I had to cross after jumping the Haw-haw (a big ditch), no huge hay barn to climb around in, looking for bantam eggs; but here are woods to explore and get to know, tree-by-tree, a just-right-sized lake, and a huge garden to dump mountains of black riches from the local stable into and grow things. Here is meaningful work to tire me and make me sleep, worry free. Here is the wonderful man I love!

I still miss Little Grove Priory. I miss Old Norwood, and Lady Jean. I miss the rose garden and the chickens. The long walks to school, where sewing was taught by a man, and we had to take exercise in our knickers! I thought that we lived there for years, until my Mother told me it was only eight months. When we had to leave I hugged all the trees goodbye, down by the chalk pit in the woods. I cried, and still cry, for that beautiful place. Luckily we married into the Lady Jean's family, so I now have cousins who are rooted there, too.

Roots don't take long to form in rich ground.