Old man?

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist 

"We are not getting younger," I told my husband as I put away my tools, hands on my hips and a sigh on my breath.

"Are you trying to tell me I'm an old man?" Greg inquired as he shook his head, wry smile spreading across face.

"Well maybe," I replied. "I've been thinking. What would think about building a downstairs bedroom. That way when we are really old, we won't have to go up and down a flight of stairs to shower, change clothes or go to sleep." We both love the loft. I was simply trying to think ahead.

Greg thought a minute. "I suppose," he said, his face now serious, "and before we really need a downstairs bedroom, we could use the room to display more clocks!" 

I nodded in agreement. Greg really was running out of shelf and wall space on which to display his mechanical clock collection. He agreed, and with a joint decision, Greg began to design a downstairs addition to our log home.

The next several days were interesting. After chores one morning, I asked Greg if he wanted to join me and the dog for a walk along the creek. It had recently rained and the once-dry creek was now perfectly filled with clear water. 

Greg looked at me, eyes twinkling. "I'm not sure. I might be too old to go creek walking." I persevered, and with a tug on his sleeve, we all went for a walk along creek.

Another morning after breakfast, I asked Greg what he planned to do with his day. 

"I don't know," was his reply. "I might be too old to do much of anything."

Oh my! What had I gotten myself into?

"No," I implored, "You are not old. We are just planning ahead for our old age still to come!" Greg spent six hours that day mowing the farm and pasture.

The next day, Greg wondered over coffee, if we were too old to cut several dead-fallen trees into firewood. 

"Of course not!" was my retort. It rained as we were finishing up our morning chores, so we did not have a chance to determine if he was too old or not. We spent the day in our shops working on small projects. I’m making wooden critters for our grandson. Greg was getting our various farm machinery ready for winter.

The next evening, Greg sat for several hours in front of his computer. I dared not ask what my "old man" was up to. I puttered about dusting and finally settled down on the couch with the dog. The evening was chilly and I'd put two candles on the dining room table. The cabin looked beautiful. The flickering light reflected off the log walls. The clocks ticked. Life seemed perfect.

Greg called me over. "What do you think of this?"

The image on his screen was beautiful. He had drawn up the concept for our downstairs room. I dared not call it a bedroom. I put my hand on his shoulder and told him it was exactly what I had envisioned our "new museum room" would be. 

"Museum room?" he inquired. Yes, this is where clocks, and book shelves, and treasures, could happily reside. I imagined a comfy couch on one wall, a writing desk on another, and a rocking chair in the far corner.

I hugged my dear man. We might not be really old quite yet, but when we are, we will be ready.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.