I’m writing to you from the warm confines of a sleepy, Monday stupor. By the accounts of those more aware than me at the moment, it’s a very nice day out – but to me it’s currently all white noise.
After twenty and change years of living in New York City, Faryl and I finally experienced a rite of passage.
We were burglarized.
What’s funny about this…. well… there is plenty funny about this, so, do take your tragedy hat off. What is funny about this is that it happened 70 miles from the big, rough city, in the small, quaint hamlet where our farm lives.
Let’s take this back a step:
Faryl and I bought a small farm last year. It was a ‘jump and the net will appear’ kind of move, and we love it. There are three barns on the land. One of these barns, we are working on turning into a house, but this is a crazy, involved process that involves talking to people with hammers and other people with forms. So in the interim, we’ve allowed ourselves to be charmed by another structure on the land.
It was originally a horse barn (I guess!? There were horse shoes and horse smells in it.) When we first saw it, I hoped it could be a cross between Thoreau’s cabin, Neil Gaiman’s writing Gazebo, and Chris Stevens’ Airstream from Northern Exposure.
After a few months of ripping up asphalt and hammering nails, we ended up with something closer to a Summer camp bunk house. It is just peachy.
Last week, as a surprise to me, Faryl and Analise built the bunkbeds we had bought from Ikea. Faryl arranged our sleeping bags on them so that when I came back the following weekend I would be extra excited to sleep there.
Saturday came, and we opened up the doors to the bunkhouse.
“Shit.” Faryl said.
Everything was there, undisturbed. Electronics, coffee maker, tools were fine.
Missing: 3 Sleeping bags. 1 Box of tissues. 1. Package of Paper Towels.
So… Hmmm…. List of suspects is quite narrow seeing as we have a neighbor… here… let me see if I have a picture.
She is older, deaf, mute, and tragically steal-y. She has walked into our place before while we were there and gathered up various implements of crazy to take back to her lair. Once Faryl, clutching a shovel and doing a chihuahua shake, attempted to explain to her that it was our stuff, and to please not take it.
At first we had thought this latest act of nappery had been some local kids causing mischief. I did it. I understand. A few hours into our day though, Log Lady came cruising by in her mini van, CASING THE JOINT. When she saw us she sped away. Also: Who steals paper towels? = Nuts.
So… yes… this is all very small potatoes. We can replace the sleeping bags. No one was injured, we were just slightly violated. Mostly I’m sad that we had to put locks on our utopian cabin. But, as I like to say when people complain, “These are good problems to have.”
New York Magazine’s Cheap Burger List. Not actually that cheap, but very enticing.
Talk soon. I know I’ve been a lazy blogger. Mostly, I’ve been so focused on one thing for the past few weeks that I feel in danger of repeating myself. “Oh, farms are so charming. Nailing pieces of wood together is hard. BLAH BLAH BLAH”. But I will be back and bloggy. I love writing to you and it makes me feel great that you enjoy it.
As I wrote this, Faryl had already finished her firey version of the story. Here it is.