Sold the Farm

Our farm is now in the hands of a couple from New Hampshire. It’s a good feeling to know the home we put so much into will be treasured and appreciated. We had a lovely lunch all together at Sea Dogs in Bangor, Maine just prior to the closing.

We overlooked the municipal marina from the brewery deck. I found my self daydreaming about dropping anchor and meeting friends and family there in a few weeks.

Directly after the house closing, we drove to the airport and parked my beloved new Rav4 in long-term parking packed to the hilt with our belongings, and flew to see our new floating home.

Our Tundra had sold just the day before, and the Rav will be going sometime next week. We had already moved two carloads to Kevins’ mother’s shed at Beech Hill, and still had half a load more we left behind to pick up after our trip.

We have somehow boiled down years of belongings and farm equipment into four total carloads. It was both freeing and terrifying. If it doesn’t work out, we have nothing. I keep reminding myself that home is wherever we are together but I can’t help but shed tears of homesickness seemingly out of nowhere.

Shortly after deciding to sell everything and live on a boat we also inherited a primitive hunting camp in far-northern Maine. It’s only accessible by boat or trekking in. It needs a wood stove and a roof.

Some of our belongings will go up to camp. My identification and naturalist guides, favorite pots and pans, winter gear and a few sentimental items of little value are packed for the journey into the north woods. I have only been there once. Kevin’s father had built it when he, and his three siblings, were children. His father and eldest brother recently passed, so the camp is now entrusted to us to care for.

The boat, named Yolo, exceeded our expectations. The current owners are truly wonderful people. We spent the better part of the day with them getting to know the boat, learn about life aboard, and met their lovely little dog, Maggi.

Sandy showed me around the kitchen, bathrooms, and bedrooms to teach me the inner-workings of daily life and what to expect. She took meticulous notes and had a routine cleaning schedule she went over in detail.

In the meantime, Bill gave Kevin a tour of the systems, maintenance, and upgrades. He seemed to have a spare for everything and obviously kept Yolo in excellent condition. It was hard to leave the boat and go back to Maine.

Today is filled with phone calls, paperwork, and ordering things we need for the boat. I have a lot of things to unpack, sift through, and repack. Yesterday I went through our clothing and folded it as neatly as possible into stacks, set them in suitcases, and had to sit on them to zip them up.

In the meantime, we are homeless. Though it’s hard to complain about strawberry shortcake for breakfast and a fully stocked beer fridge on the lake for the Fourth of July.