I was making plans for winter. The farm was moving into another season. I had no idea that life was making plans of its own.

We all know it's possible. Most of us have experienced the unexpected in one form or another—an illness, a pandemic, job loss, missing your flight... lost luggage? Still, when it happens suddenly, without any warning, our psychological response is often shock, doubt, or denial. I remember learning about the stages of grief. I wasn't so sure about the denial phase. Or maybe I just didn't believe that phase included death. Death is pretty black and white. You are or you are not.

When my grandmother (who was my other mom) died, she had been on her way to the airport with my older brother. She was headed to Florida to see her longtime partner and her sister, and to get out of the cold of a Northeast January. I went to the hospital. We had a funeral. Honestly, I don't remember much of either. I do remember that for almost two years, whenever my phone (the one on the wall) rang, I kept expecting it to be her. Her death was sudden, and my brain had created a story that she wasn't dead. She was merely in Florida.

I understand that response a little differently now. I've experienced similar reactions to loss since then—thankfully, not surrounding death. But this time, as I find myself facing the possibility of losing my father, I recognize that same space between what I know and what my mind is willing to accept. The disbelief. The waiting for someone to come back. The feeling that surely there has been some mistake.

Rob and I really do live our lives with the mindset that we will simply figure things out. Which often means we learn things the absolute hardest way possible.

We spent the winter getting ready for our first season as coffee shop and farmhouse store owners. Okay, if I'm being honest, I did a great deal of the finishing work and designed everything, but I left the actual carpentry to Rob.

We started with my office, which had been his office and was now getting a makeover. We also finally figured out how to use the seemingly wasted space under the stairs to our bedroom. Win!

The cracked, uneven concrete floor in the milk shed turned coffee shop and farmhouse store? Well, I confirmed that if you distract the eye enough, you can get away with almost anything.

We learned about signs. The need to have them, where to put them, what they should potentially say, and how to get them to stay in place. Signs. Who knew?

Ironically, when Rob & I first saw this house & land, I wasn't the one who knew. I didn't truly know that Rob & I (and even our kitties, possibly even our children) were being called here.

Rob & I had driven the stretch of 141 from Clements Road (the cement bridge) down to the center of Monroe. Rob gushed about fields. His head swiveled, even as he drove, down toward Monroe Center & back, craning to see the grass that would soon be tall & turned into hay.

I didn't know.

I didn't exactly know that these were fields that grew hay. I didn't know about bush hogging. Okay, the list of things I didn't know is too long to list for this blog. Suffice it to say, I didn't know just about anything about living on a farm, with or without animals.

And despite being the one writing about & exploring the soul of this land, and the desire to share it with others, it didn't even occur to me until this past year that the land had called us.