"My bags are packed...I'm ready to go..."

"I'm standing here outside your door.." John Denver

I'm sitting in my office surrounded by boxes and boxes and more boxes of files, books, supplies and random other things that belong in offices, and there is little for us to do besides answer sparse phone calls. Someone must have sent out a memo saying "Don't call Bayou Bend. They are going nuts over there." Between the constant hammering, sawing and sanding going on outside as they do repairs, and the ripping of packing tape inside, and the movers coming and going with giant yellow crates and dollies, my brain is just on overload.

We have known this day was coming for months, and though our new quarters at the top of the hill will be quite nice, I will truly miss being in the cottage down the driveway from the house.
To be able to step outside the door and be at once in the gardens, both wild and formal - to be able to walk a few steps and smell the fragrance of whatever is blooming at the moment - to be witness to the phenomena of feeling immediately the warmth of a home that pervades the site even with its formality and history... I will miss all of it. Yes, we will be just up the hill, and only a beautifully landscaped walk away, but for now, I still feel as though I'm saying goodbye to the intimacy I've had with it.