Nothing is Permanent

In a single week, every leaf on every tree of our property has fallen to the ground and become an inch-thick layer of brown mush. For days, the sky has been a perpetual gray. None of our chickens are laying any eggs. Adorably, Bunny and Tee’s winter coats have poofed out in every direction – their faces round with thick fur.

Fall, this season of fast and not always fancy change, is a reminder that nothing is permanent.

That’s frightening sometimes: the idea of non-permanence. For example, being able to walk around the property now with Little Foot – his steps confidently stomping through wide strides as if he was traveling along train tracks – makes me proud as a mom, but also blue in realizing that movement from point A to point B is one less thing in which he needs my assistance.

The fragility of life itself is terrifying – knowing that any exhale could be the last. It’s especially apprehensive right now because every headline on every news outlet is destruction, devastation, and death.

I watch Little Foot cruise around the property, stopping every few steps to squat down and poke at empty pecan shells or sticks and as grateful as I am with how peaceful and protected his world must feel right now, I am equally as nervous and saddened by the inevitability of life’s viscious reality washing away his tranquil innocence. This age of mind-boggling discoveries in different sounds, open-mouth kisses, giggling at silly hats and complete absence of self-consciousness and doubt is so terrifyingly temporary.

Nothing is permanent.

It’s been a month since my last blog – not-so-coincidentally; it has also been almost a month since King Ranch was suddenly laid off from his job. It wasn’t his fault or related to his abilities at all – it was solely a result of corporate bull shit. His job was the reason we moved out of Houston and to the ranch in the first place. We had just begun to sprout roots here.

Shocking and stressful as this is, King Ranch and I are doing our best to view this as opportunity. There must be something better out there. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about the meaning of life and what we do know is that our purpose for being here is much bigger than a desk job. We cannot and will not let this event define us.

Nothing is permanent.

If it wasn’t for King Ranch’s job, we wouldn’t have moved here in the first place. We may have never found out that we quite enjoy the ranch life – even if roosters do wake us up every morning at dawn. We wouldn’t have met Bunny or Tee, or had the excitement of finding eggs in the chicken coop. I might have never seen my Michigander husband in a cowboy hat (and boy would that be a crime).

We may have never been welcomed home by a donkey bray. We may have never learned that a rooster might lie atop the grave of his dead and buried companion. We may have never gazed upon so many stars from our front yard.

Nothing is permanent.

Little Foot is very quickly walking out of his infant days and into his toddler years. This is terrifying. This is exciting. This is difficult and this is incredible. Lucky for us, King Ranch gets to be around a little more for these last few moments of infanthood. Not counting ‘mama’ and ‘dada’, Little Foot spoke his first word the other day: ‘Bsh.’

This is his version of ‘bash, as in, “Little Foot, don’t bash mommy’s face with the remote control.

Bsh. King Ranch was there to hear that. He was there to look at me wide-eyed and say, “did he just say bash?!” and spend the next hour encouraging him to bash things just so we could hear him say ‘bsh.

Nothing is permanent.

We have no idea what the next few months of our lives will look like. And although that’s a scary thought, it’s also okay. It is.

A year ago, I had no idea I’d end up moving to a ranch. A year ago, I had no idea my baby would already be running around and climbing on things and saying his first few words. A year ago, I didn’t know I would love donkeys. A year ago, I’d never eaten a fresh egg.

Nothing is permanent.

A year ago, I had no idea that it was possible to love my husband more than I did then. I had no idea that we could be running on essentially no sleep and still manage to crack ourselves up by making up songs to sing to Little Foot that we would never ever sing in front of anyone else because what the hell do they even mean? We’re not even saying real words most of the time. Watching him become a father has pumped my heart so full of ooey-gooey gum drop love that I sometimes feel like I might die.

Nothing is permanent.

It’s one foot in front of the other right now: literally for Little Foot, but figuratively for King Ranch and I. I don’t know what’s around the bend. I’m scared. I’m excited. I’m anxious. I’m stressed. But I’m certainly not alone. Never in my life have I felt more loved than I do right now. Never in my life have I loved as hard as I do right now.

Nothing is permanent.

Nothing is permanent.

Nothing is permanent.

Thank goodness, nothing is permanent.

 

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