I’ve been taking some time away from behind the wheel to breathe some fresh air and collect mosquito bites. Drove seven hours or so south, to rural N.C., to the farm.

Predating the Civil war by two decades, the farmhouse has some charming, if somewhat challenging idiosyncrasies. It was originally built as a log cabin, added to in sections over the years into a rambling, two-story clapboard home with an impressive stone chimney. The interior is mostly natural wood paneling, knotty pine, and floorboards made of broad old wood. No wall or door jam is completely square and no floor is level, much to the delight of children with marbles and race cars. The focus of the living room is a large, open, stone fireplace which was once used for cooking and has now been converted to nearly convincing gas logs. The second story floorboards are the ceiling of the rooms below, so sound travels a bit too efficiently. The walls and windows are rather porous to humidity and temperature compared to contemporary standards, and the air conditioning works well enough for the modern sections of the house, though definitely not for the second floor. One feels the elements more intensely living here. 

The place is rich in sounds, all times of night and day. One can hear a myriad of birdsongs in the early morning, insects buzzing all day and a chorus of frogs and crickets by the pond at night. I always liked falling asleep to the pond sounds.

A small green pollinator.