^^Ha. Another early morning essayist.
If I died today, they would find few personal inanimate possessions, except for some laptops and terabyte hard drives which are the repository of a thousand old films, documents and a vast library of ebooks. There are also a few large flat screens and a recently acquired Roku box.
They would find two confused but good natured border collies of high pedigree answering to the names of Sam&Dave, a mare of questionable provenance who is very particular about who rides her, a bad-tempered burro addicted to sweets who is only happy when raiding the sugar cane patch, two hives of stingless melipona bees and a small, related experiment involving high-quality vanilla orchids. They would also find a gnarly, three-foot Frankincense tree and five small bonsai offshoots thriving in a climate controlled alcove. These trees are tectonically slow in growth but, if properly cared for, should make very fragrant and elegant bonsais sometime in the early 22nd century.
Out the rear kitchen door they will find a meticulously kept vegetable and herb garden shaded by a large mango tree, and beyond that a hen coop and a chicken run alive with earthworms just below the surface. If I had warning of my own demise, I would have released my hens into the garden to peck the tender leaves of my herbs to their heart’s content as thanks for three years of morning eggs. Off to one side of the garden is a mushroom cellar and next to that is a small cheese cellar. More experiments.
And to the left of the coop is a small barn complex, home of 38 sheep, 5 goats and the aforementioned horse and burro under the management of an extended family of large, semi-feral barn cats whose hobby is rodent control. In return for this, they get goat’s milk every morning fresh from the teat.
Attached to the barn are rooms for animal food storage, tackle, tools and repair and a small garage that houses a beat up, roofless old Jeep that goes by various names, usually obscene, depending on its behaviour. Yesterday, it started up on the first try, so it was re-christened The Blue Max. However, I am unsure of it’s true color due to decades of sun bleaching, grime and multiple encounters with immovable objects.
Near the barn – too close to the barn – they would find a sign planted into the ground stating that one is about to enter Walden, a 400 sq. ft. failed experiment in sugar cane named after Zonker Harris’ wheat patch in the comic strip Doonesbury. It has never done well and always presents as storm-rent (see burro above.). It’s primary purpose now is as a candy store for Betsy the Burro.
Beyond the barnyard and corral is a three acre mango grove in the center of which is a stockade of vanilla vines and in the center of that is my two hives of meliponas and the small garden house and extraction shed where I harvest wax and honey for local outlets. Inside, they will find some beekeeping paraphernalia and on a worktable, a mildewed, dog-eared copy of Out of Africa, by Karen Blixen. It is suffering the fate of all books in this climate.
To the left of the mangos is a grove of tangerine trees. Surrounding all of this on three sides is 46 acres of tall, majestic pecans – the primary purpose of this plantation – the care and maintenance of which is subcontracted out to professionals. And beyond that are meadows for the sheep, and beyond that is wild, tropical forest.
Except for one of the dogs, the mare, the vanilla orchids, the bees and the frankincense tree and its progeny, none of this belongs to me. I am only the caretaker and keeper of the books.
One thousand feet below the house, and nearly a mile from it by a winding shell road, is a village snuggled against an ice-blue bay rich with shellfish, and at the end of a dock that can be seen from the house is usually tied a 42-foot yacht, my only true possession. We together have logged thousands of nautical miles since my voyage began in December, 2012.
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Composing members:
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