The blizzard had left me with a canceled bus ticket, and a frantic last day in town, with people to see, things to deliver, and no time for dallying. Then, I weathered the blizzard, driving 30 mph on the highway until I escaped the lake effect snow somewhere south of St. Joe. I had a great time catching up with my friend Matt, but didn't get much sleep even after he went to bed. Too anxious for rest. It was a good thing that my phone got me up an hour early, refusing to do the time-change from Eastern to Central time; I had forgotten that I needed to refill the rental car's gas tank, and the morning gridlock had me worried.
An uneventful flight landed me in San Francisco, where I was joined by Thoth, my host's son, and Brett, a farming friend from Michigan. Brett had told me about his time at Salt Hollow Acre, and how he loved it. He also vouched for my earnestness in applying to be the Resident Intern here. And now, he was our chauffer.
I made it to my new home exhausted, but bushy-tailed for the tour of the house. It was raining for the first time in ages--a nice, gentle mist-turned-drizzle that the ground could soak up without losing too much soil to erosion. It was also dark, so the outdoor tour was postponed for daylight. I met Jini, my host, and she gave me a second tour, including a nod to the hot tub which beckoned sumptuously. I soaked in as much as I could, took a brief soak in the hot tub, and crashed hard in the camper -trailer near the goat pen, thankful to have a happy community of warm faces, and a place now pregnant with new growth.
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