2018: We move 1000 miles, acquire an old, neglected farm with a house in terribly ugly condition (from a distance it looks quaint, doesn’t it?)

have a fourth baby

and are deep in to homeschool life, which finally has a rhythm and sometimes feels downright successful.

The house is in pieces right now.

It’s too much to explain, so let’s start simply, with the kitchen sink. I wrote a letter to the current owner of a former house, asking if she would like to part with the ancient cast iron sink. She replied with an offensive note, replete with nasty things. A quick Google search turned up a few nutty letters she wrote to the local newspaper, the kind where I wonder if l should stop reading in order to preserve the writer’s remaining scrap of dignity or indulge in reading the rest of the nonsensical ranting. (I indulged, at least in the first letter.) Anyhow, her note ended with a terse “Get your own damn sink”. I guess she won’t be passing along the cheerful greeting for our former neighbors as requested in the postscript.

I decided to do as she requested. A lone similar sink showed up on craigslist, in a shed just a few blocks from our rental. It belonged to a very kind older man who salvaged it from a house on 3rd and Grant, and was in great shape, so of course we bought it. On the walk home, I remembered that I lived near that corner long ago, and there was a long, old sink…sure enough, it is the same sink. (This is the house where I moved in to find two of my bedroom walls–well, really, the entire back of the house–open to the outdoors, as the then-owner decided to do a little remodeling without telling us. I think Bloomington tenant rights have improved quite a bit since.)

Happy ending: This hefty sink is going to last forever. We bought it from someone who wanted it to have a sweet home, and we avoided supporting Home depot-like places. It is 6′ long, so that saves a few feet of countertop space and cabinets (did I mention the kitchen budget is essentially zero?). As with all overwhelming situations, everything always works itself out. I must remember this when I am in our torn-apart house, or when the acres of poison ivy begin to green up next month.

And I literally did get my own damn sink.