For the tens of you still tuning-in for the riveting story of how my whole-herd-of-a-family came to live in Central Oregon, I applaud you. You’re sticktoitiveness is stellar and this is the last installment on the issue, I promise. Then I’ll move on to more interesting stories; like the time I sent my husband shopping for a rust-colored burn barrel that would match our cedar-colored house. Wow, the humiliation? It was palpable.
But, on with my story about a family who decides to go-for-it and ditch their big-city lives to return to the country-style living of their youth. My little Brother found his Powell Butte farm first; which stands to reason because HE’S got all the brains and I got the head-full of hair which of course, the punk says makes me part Alpaca. So I got out the map and found Powell Butte. Turns out I’d spent a bit of time here back in my FFA days and had rather fond memories of this little community known as “The Home of Good Stock, Good Crops and Good Neighbors.” And how cute is a town with only one Church, a general store, and a post office? Madly cute, I say, as long as Costco, Checkers Coffee Shop and Meadow Lakes Golf Course are just a hop, skip and a jump down the road. Otherwise, when you’re coming off the high of big city living? Not so cute.
We tried to snatch up some land across the canal from Brother’s new farm but the owner was experiencing what can only be described as a short circuit in his GPS because his asking price was even more than those jaw-dropping views we saw in last episode’s tour of Tumalo. Or perhaps he caught wind that a Brother and Sister wanted to own property next to each other and considered it his patriotic duty to protect Powell Butte from Rajneesh Puram: The Sequel. We may never know why our efforts to end every evening with a “g’night Jim Bob” over the fence were thwarted. But we kept on looking anyway for that spittin-distance piece of property that wouldn’t blow our budget. If we could just find a home close enough to family for barn raisings, bon fires and impromptu suppers together, we’d be pleased as punch.
The good news is we finally put our stake in the ground up the road a piece from my Brother’s family. The bad news is that it’s not exactly spittin-distance like we’d dreamed about. But the even better news is that we’re not spitting ON each other as we learn to daily-navigate the relational dynamics of practicing brotherly and sisterly love, while trying not to overwhelm my parents; who are still amazed, I think, that we actually accepted their kind invitation to bring our herd over the mountains in the first place.
So, there you have it; the cliff-hangar conclusion of one family’s quest to return to the farm living they remember from their youth; via some big city off-ramps. And five years later, I’m still learning and re-learning how NOT to kill a pony with alfalfa hay, that it’s no use painting the burn barrel to match the color of my house and that the guy behind the counter at the feed store usually knows what he’s talking about.
Most of all, I’ve learned that the old saying “you can’t choose your family” is a battle cry for reconciliation; not an excuse for disengagement. And the added effort it takes to be about the business of staying friends with my family brings with it some sweet rewards that far outweigh the challenges.
An excerpt from Rodney Clapp’s book entitled A Peculiar People sums up my most recent lessons learned out yonder:
True friendship is revolutionary in our managerial, bureaucratic, ledger-keeping society. Friends are people who really take the time to know each other. And genuine friendship is not a matter of managing or controlling others, but of accepting their different-ness and standing open to surprises – surprises that, whether joyful or demanding, extend our powers to achieve greater excellence in the practice of friendship.
