Sunday Project

I painted my plywood counter this delicious retro green. Stank up the joint a little, but the day is chilly and clear, so I left the door open and rode the bike to Edgartown. Looking at this picture, I’m realizing that the camper is finally beginning to look lived-in. I know it’s all just beginning, but when I do work on it these days I have this sneaky sort of thinking about when and how to sell it. I find it hilarious that I, of all people, might turn some little profit in the whole thing. And I love the idea of the camper, already old, already with its own stories and bulletholes (yes, literally, bulletholes), could have life and value way beyond this farm and this time.

If it was insulated better, hell, I’d keep it myself. Maybe go on a trip with it or something. But here in New England April, I wake up in the loft sometimes and see my breath in the air. At this point, getting out of my cozy purple sleeping bag is this enormously unappealing chore, this nasty thing. I prod myself with promises of a warm truck and hot coffee from down the road, radio blasting, limbs coming back to life. And it happens, eventually. You do what you have to do. But I won’t be this young forever.