It is very likely that Joseph will go out to the ranch again. Maybe just once, but it’s likely there will be at least that once.
But I will never be out there again.
We wanted to walk the perimeter and to stop and visit some of the far-flung corners where I’ve only been once. We wanted to go rockhounding and do those things that we have enjoyed doing; to have a good last day. We wanted to clean up a bit in the house and clear out everything.
It did not go according to plan.
Friday Joseph walked to one of those far corners and encountered numerous wild hogs. We decided that a visit to those corners with Eleanor along would be too risky. We looked for rocks a bit, but overcast turned to raining – just enough rain to make walking around outside unpleasant. Joseph found two good ones; I found three little chips. And for the house and the rest, we just … left. The house is clear. Well, we left them the trash can and the dish soap and paper towels. And certain other obvious things that are of the house (like remotes to the air conditioners). The shop is 99% clear, and the new owners can just deal with the dead mouse on their own.
And then we picked up a few more of the large centerpiece sandstone rocks, since Mom expressed an interest, and we came home.
The door did not lock any differently. The land did not seem any different, the cows did not behave any differently, the gate lock did not snap shut nor the gate clang sonorously as we left. It was all tremendously anticlimactic.
I’ve had this feeling so many times before as I’ve left a place for the final time. As if I am longing for some ritual goodbye process that will clear accounts with the old place.
Like one should braid one black and two green strands (one for endings, two for beginnings) and bury the strand in front of the doorway. That one should stand in each room with some ceremonial drink (tea, perhaps), and say “Thank you for being a good bedroom”, leave a newly minted penny in the center of the room, and back out of the room. But then at the threshold of the house, say “Thank you for sheltering my family and for being a good house. May we each have joy in our new lives” and turn and walk out of the door, closing it behind you without looking back.
There used to be all these rituals for each transition in life. We have lost almost all of them. I want some of them back.
On the other hand, I am tired of moving rocks. I don’t need to move any more rocks again for a long, long time. Just to quantify what we’ve done, mostly all within the last month, I counted our rocks.
All of these totals have been rounded down. And this is limited to rocks that we’ve brought from the ranch in the last year; the boxes of petrified wood that we’ve collected prior to this are not included. For petrified wood, I’m not counting the little chips at all.
Final tally:
Sandstone: 90
Honeycomb limestone: 15
Petrified Wood: 20 (this is no doubt low – there are 40 large/large-ish pieces about, and I’m not certain which were before and which after. So I halved it.)
Other : 10 (there are several odd ones in the mix)
135 rocks. At least.
With a combined weight of let’s say 7592 pounds.
We are done with moving rocks.
You are right, we have lost the ceremonies, and there are times when we would feel more right about things if we had a ceremony. I remember my dad’s place. There should have been more to leaving it.
You will always regret losing the ranch. You will always know it was the practical thing, the only thing you could reasonably have done, to sell it, but you will always regret having lost it. Especially Joseph. But you have come to love and appreciate the place enough that you will regret it.
It is good, perhaps, that you now have a chance to go out there with less time constriction and maybe walk around one last time. It won’t be a ceremony, but it will be a more satisfactory leavetaking. (and you can pick up more pretty rocks 🙂