Every fall, like clockwork, the leaves turn orange, yellow, brown, and begin to fall off the trees. It isn’t fall though until the yearly windstorm blows in, and removes the near remaining leaves off the trees.

Today was that day. I opened my eyes this morning, looked out the window, saw that it was blustery, then attempted to go back to sleep. This never works. Once I am awake and have done a cursory weather check, all back to sleep bets are off.

Pete, who can easily go back to sleep when I wake up, pulled the pillow over his head and caught a few more zzzz’s. Once up and out, I looked up at the sky. Slightly overcast, and the air smelled like rain.

After breakfast, Pete called Jon DePriest, our hay dealer, and asked if we could come and get another load of hay. Not today, John said, because he was baling the second cutting.

First pizza in new oven

So instead, we saddled up the horses and went for a ride. We went part way to Grizzly Camp because the trails had dried up some. They are majorly torn up and rutted from the recent hunters. And my favorite singletrack trail, the one that parallels the main trail to Grizzly Camp, is now a four wheeler trail.

There’s going to be a DNR draft proposal public commentary meeting in a few weeks. The draft is out. It is purposely vague, and I know already nothing is going to change.

Last night, Pete pulled up some realtor ads for property in Washington State. And after, we talked some about a long range plan. We do have a lot going on here, but if we play our cards right, and we get the BLBP into the right hands, we could move.

I have this sense though, that time is a wasting. I am no longer 20, with 60 years left. I have at best 12 years left. And Pete has 18 years left. This 12, 18 years is going to go fast. The best I can do is not think about this and live for the moment. All I can now think is, where did the time go?

I can continue to dream, say of finding property which is already horse/chicken/goat habitable and has a house that doesn’t require much work. Yes, a place close to interconnected riding trails that have not yet been trashed. If we found this, I would not ever look back.

Our friend Deb Moore, who had 22 horses on her property pulled up roots and headed to Oklahoma. Well, we can do the same. We have just three horses.

This will undoubtedly be our final move.

I am supposed to visit Eleanor in November. Maybe we can look for places that are close to one another. Then, as Mr. Rogers says, we can be neighbors.

It’s getting dark early. And the snow is creeping down the mountain range. I wish I’d left when the geese took flight. Stupid me, staying behind.

Next: 269. 10/1/23: The Tenth Month of the Year