Going Back

It’s my last day of quarantine before I return to the office on Monday. I’m working from the porch before it gets too hot.

Aside from traffic noise, it’s pleasant here. The horses are grazing in the upper pasture. I’m surrounded by trees, including a old oak tree that would take three adults holding hands to completely encircle (if we held hands anymore, which we don’t).

I don’t want to go back.

It’s 74 degrees this morning. Every morning Tex and I take the 4 wheeler out to check stubble height and sprinkler coverage in the lower pasture. It’s an excuse for her to run (and ride), to feel the cool air whip past our ears, and watch downy ducklings line up obediently behind their mamas. We like to watch them glide underneath long grasses that overhang the canal, Tex and I, for different reasons.

I don’t want to go back.

Squirrels chatter in the trees. The birds are nattering and singing. There’s a mourning dove sounding like it lost its mate in the tree. I see a hazy outline of mountains in the distance. There’s a fire somewhere out Willow Creek north of here. The flies aren’t biting yet.

I’m going to miss this.

Before long I’ll be back inside though. It never really cooled off last night so opening windows and deploying fans to suck in fresh air (and dust)  didn’t do the trick – lower the temp sufficiently to keep us comfortable until supper. I won’t miss sweltering in our un-airconditioned farmhouse or bringing horses off the pasture at noon when the promise of what’s to come is smoldering. Well, maybe I will just a little.

On balance, removing the Professor’s health from the equation, being home has been mostly blessing with a few drawbacks – not quite curses.

Somebody needs to tell Tex I’m going back. I don’t have the heart.