Although each experience was somewhat different from the last, I have definitely gotten in to the groove of living at the farm house. Unfortunately, it feels like being stuck in a rut.
While here, I decided it was most important to do the farm work as early as possible before the midday heat kicked in and once my obligations were fulfilled, spend as little time there as possible. When I was at the post office yesterday, I was assured that my post card would come in the mail today and I would be able to get my library card after proving my address. I walked down to the bottom of the drive way and while checking the roadside mailboxes, I couldn’t find one that matched the address Randy told me for the farm. I peaked in to the mailboxes, obviously not reading the mail, but to see if any of the names had Randy on them or if my postcard was misplaced. One mailbox had a black widow quietly nesting inside of it and once I noticed it, I closed the door back cautiously as to not disturb it.
I had another encounter with a black widow when I first arrived to the farm, when Randy and I were moving the outhouse. Randy told me that they are rather passive and as long as you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you. He demonstrated this by completely ignoring the one that was staying stationary by his foot while we shifted the outhouse to its new resting spot. Eventually, he accidentally stepped on it and I found myself feeling sorry for the little guy.
After checking all the curbside mailboxes, there was no post card. I walked up the road a few residences to see if the mailbox was misplaced. It wasn’t though. When I called Randy to confirm, he said that the mailbox had a different address than the farmhouse and that he hadn’t even used it for months. He said there were probably spiders nesting in it or something.
There was one, yeah.
It frustrated me that he didn’t put the pieces together when I asked him for the address, but I couldn’t be too critical on him, because I never really told him why I wanted it. After all, I did use the address for my GPS. I went in to town anyways and stopped by the library and told them the story. I was able to get a library card despite the mishap because it turned out that I didn’t actually need a post card as long as my driver’s license was from California and relatively local. The address on the card was good enough and I was settled in before too long. I stretched the amount of time I spent at the library as far as possible between using my available internet time, writing notes at the studying table and browsing the book selections.
I grabbed the bike and went back to the farm house as late as feasibly possible, giving myself enough time to fit in another watering before the sunset. As soon as I reached the driveway to get back to the farmhouse, I noticed a white truck pulling up next to me slowly. I stopped and looked over and noticed it was Quinn on his way back home. We chatted a bit about the duration of my stay here, but due to the erratic nature of my travels so far, I figured I would not have the opportunity to capitalize on our acquaintanceship.