The Laughing Wolf

Life Changes

No, no engagements to announce, but some changes none-the-less. Change is a constant in life, and change oft is a very good thing, for it forces growth and evaluation. It may also bring pleasure on many levels, as well as the pain of loss. All too often, it is easy to look back in the glow of nostalgia and make such losses even more intense, for we mourn the ideal rather than the real.

I have walked away from things I enjoyed, that I loved, before. A bit over a decade ago, about the time of the first Clinton administration, I walked away from something that had made me feel more alive than almost anything (short of jumping out of a plane) I had ever done. This was done not out of pique or such, but because it was time for me to move on. While I enjoyed that thing very much, it also had a price that I was no longer willing to pay, and because I did not like changes that were underway. The right thing to do was to walk away.

As long-time readers know, I spent what I feel was the best part of my childhood in Rabun County, Georgia. I loved that place and time, from the woods to the people and characters. I vividly remember camping up there as a toddler, and watching a boy who was visiting fall from a tree and breaking his collar bone. I remember going to an abandoned quarry with my Dad and getting rock to make a deck outside the slant-roofed shack (made of dress white pine and cypress siding) that became our kitchen. I could not have been more than four or five, but the memory of the joy and pride in doing work and in "helping" my father stays with me yet.

As things changed and grew, so too do the memories. I learned to put up walls and panelling when an indoor bathroom and bedrooms were added, for our local friend and carpenter framed, and we did all the inside work. I learned at an early age that fiberglass does indeed itch, and can get in the darndest of places when you wrestle with batting that is probably as big as you are. The project that in some ways marked me as a man for my Dad was when we built a 40-foot porch across the front of the structure. The deck went up one year, and then we roofed and screened the next. Tin roofs are wonderful in many ways, but a bear to learn and quick to cut if you make a mistake.

So many memories, most good, some not. Yet, change comes to all things, and I have written about the changes up there before. It is no longer possible to run the ridges, and those that mattered most to me are gone, friends and friend-as-big-brother, and I do miss them all.

When Mom died, Dad decided that a relative should get half of this cabin. That was not what Mom and I had discussed, but Dad stated that this was her wish, and I did not argue, for it made him happy. I knew then that it was not in my best financial interest, or possibly best interest, but went along for Dad. After Dad died, the situation became rather unsatisfactory for me. Add in the fun joys of contract ends and such with which I have bored you these last two years, and it made an interesting situation even more interesting.

About a week ago, I finished the sale of my half of the cabin to that relative. It was a price far below market value, and I gave up any claim on the potential windfall that awaits, but in the ways that really count that is just fine. While there is an unofficial agreement that I can use it for a given period each year, I doubt that I will go down there except to pull out my remaining stuff and some of the stuff that the relative doesn't want. I am not quite shaking the dust from my sandals in regards to the property and the relative, but it is close. I am going to sell the remaining lots I have nearby as well, for it is time to move on.

Life changes are sad on one level, yet joyful on others. Living through them is never easy, but it can be extremely rewarding. There are more life changes ahead for all of us, so hang on for the ride and make the most of it as you can.

LW