As mentioned in previous posts, on 1 April this year we moved to a new (to us) older home on a large plot of land in an established part of our little town. It's a long and complicated story as to how we ended up giving our new landlord an offer to purchase, but we did. And then I discovered that the self-employed do not qualify for a bank loan to purchase property, or even an appointment to discuss such matters with a bank...
The house was consequently put back onto the market and there seems to be a new owner in the works, although we have a lease in place for a year.
Which means that a year after moving in, we'll be moving out yet again.
I had high hopes for this garden space - the biggest I've yet had since we left Zimbabwe in my youth. It's lined with trees, a wonderful habitat for birds and little garden creatures, which gives me immense pleasure. When we arrived here, I immediately cleared out 2 x 5 ton trucks of garden waste, and planted a few hundred bucks worth of appropriate-to-the-season, companion-planted seeds in my new veggie garden. Which the assorted birds, snails, mole etc promptly ate. The only things left are masses of parsely, 3 straggling pea plants, some moth-eaten bok choy, and a tentative celery plant. Two beans have recently popped up on one side of the yard - but not on the other. Any day now the garden pests will discover them and they'll be gone.
The thing is, knowing that I have to yet again shift locations a year after moving in, I haven't gone ape in the garden (literally or figuratively). All the plants in pots that I've dragged from one small bricked-over yard to another for years, are still in pots - although their bases are hovering over soil. I've simply completely lost interest in giving them a permanent home... The few flowers I bought in those first weeks are struggling along without much attention (and the cold, wet weather with early darkness has not been conducive to outdoor activities, which doesn't help). I haven't invested in that lemon tree, planted out the grape vines in the best spot for them, stocked up on roses for the front garden, or started religiously mowing the lawn to perfection. I still have packets of seeds that are not going into the ground, as by the time they've grown up, we'll have moved out.
I had high hopes for the house too, plans for paint and guestrooms, renovations and additions, settling in to a place we could finally call home.
But I've also lost interest in making this a true home for the limited time we'll be here - and knowing that the new owner will be coming through like a whirlwind to change what he sees fit once I leave. Beyond painting the kitchen wall white instead of mud brown to improve the light in there, and curtaining the essential windows, I've stalled on home creativity. Half the curtains in the lounge have been taken up to the correct length - I'm simply not enthused to do the other side of the room at all, as it's likely they'll be the wrong length at the next place. There are still a few boxes in the kitchen and the garage that have not been packed out - and are unlikely to be, as they would have to all be packed up again.
My headspace is locked into "transit" mode.
I truly hate this impermanent feeling - this being a nomad on someone else's property, biding time until the lease expires. Just like my avo seedling and my gooseberry bush, I would love to put down roots in proper ground, long-term. For now I'm treading water and waiting, waiting to see where next we'll go, preparing to deal with yet another uprooting.