Ford's Mill Sunset

Coming home to the farm one evening last week,  I turned onto the next to the last country road before ours and saw this .... a gorgeous fat sun slipping out of sight.  I pulled over to the side of the road and snapped a hurried picture just as it disappeared.

Turning onto that road seems to send a signal to my body .... ahhh,  you're almost home.  The traffic and busy-ness of town fades away.  I can almost feel my heart rate slow.  Though I didn't grow up in the country,  I've lived there most of my adult life and I can't imagine living anywhere else.  I know there will come a time when it's just too difficult physcially to stay on the farm and maybe I will be mentally prepared for leaving by then.  I don't know.  A few years ago,  when I stepped on a garden tool that went through my boot and into my foot,  Mike told me that he had an epiphany.  He said it suddenly came to him that leaving the farm might not be a decision we come to slowly and in our own good time.  There may come a moment when something drastic happens and the decision is taken out of our hands.  We have acknowledged that neither of us could manage it alone.  There's just too much work,  too much involved in keeping things even marginally presentable around here.    I do think we've reached the stage where we are no longer adding things to the mix.  There have been no new species of animals lately and no new building projects undertaken,  though both of those are continuing temptations. 

I've been thinking a lot about these things lately because I've had an on-going physical problem with one of my shoulders.   I've had trouble sleeping and being able to comfortably do the chores I need to do.  It's been a not so pleasant reminder of aging and the limitations of my own body.   I'm setting some fitness goals for myself for the new year and am thinking about how to be more creative and productive, yet more relaxed in my daily life.  What do you think?  Is that even possible?