so when it came time to move from their three-acre homestead containing precious belongings and equipment and tons of old *stuff* which had rested peacefully for 20 years in two barns and one shed and one other outbuilding and the house and the little house ... it was a hefty job. moving house is an act of heroism.
after moving the house stuff carefully and tenderly came the dirty, dusty, spidery, rusty, boxes and boxes and containers from the barns, and the huge heavy awkward equipment and stoves and old motorcycles, etc ... backbreaking, footpounding, back and forth, over and over again.
load, tie down, drive, hoping the old vw bumper or grandma's sofa doesn't bounce off the trailer. unload, and "process": into the new house, or organize as storage in the garage, or in the little shed in the yard, or dump. my sister-in-law was the master of processing. man, that girl can organize!
two solid weeks of moving, squeaked out of the old house on deadline day. oof! somehow we managed to find the energy to celebrate my brother's birthday in the midst of it all. he can wrangle a tractor, and he likes strawberries and cream. that says everything you need to know about my brother. (and he also kinda looks like george clooney, though he always says "nawww.")
the best part of all this exertion? i got to see my brother, his wife, my nephews and nephew's girlfriend every day. we laughed. we teased. we swore. we stressed. we survived.
the new place. beautiful, especially in springtime. me and my brother? better than ever. everyone said, oh it's so nice of you to help your brother so much. nice? it's not nice at all. he is my everything.
"No one could tell me where my Soul might be.
I searched for God, but God eluded me.
I sought my Brother out, and found all three."
~ Ernest Crosby