On a Mountain

I am moved.

No longer a resident of Berne New York, a home I was in for nine years and one I will always be grateful for, I am now moved to a house on a mountain in New York’s Delaware County. A dirt road passes in front and the house sits on 12 acres of largely forested land. There is a beautiful pond in the backyard. I met Carlos the mailman, a delightful person. He tells me there is another writer and two painters on this stretch. Is it any wonder? The pull to the writing table (and I imagine for a painter, the easel) is magnetic here.

There is still an enormous amount of unpacking to do. I have nearly 70 boxes filled with books and then of course, there are the many boxes packed at the last minute, that minute when it finally dawns on you that everything actually does go together and are thrown into the nearest box thusly.

The dogs love it here. McKenzie and Charley run free when I’m with them but Milo, loyal first to his beagle nose, remains on a long lead.

I got my library card the first full day I was here. My health has been a bit problematic but seems to be on the mend, its battering in large part, I think (hope!) was in response to the stress and anxiety of having to move.

And then there is the advocacy to get back to. I finally received a letter from New York’s Department of Health that claims to be its response to my complaints. The DOH is one of those remarkable entities that can put words on a page and still leave it blank. More on this soon.

In the meantime I continue to settle in. I am deep into a lovely biography of John Dos Passos by Townsend Ludington. There is a wood stove here and reading by the fire is about as glorious as it gets.

Anyway, I am moved, and the next chapter begins.


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