Where the Wild Things Rust
Treasures from the Field of Forgotten Dreams
Snake!
Our son bolted back from the pile like he’d just seen...well, a snake.
It was a ramble of iron parts, wood scraps, leaves.
A compost heap of someone else’s plans.
We finally had a "free" weekend (meaning no theater rehearsals, birthday parties, or emergency vet visits) to dig through the mess left in the field behind the house.
Two acres full of old farm equipment and half-finished projects. Leftover dreams from the man who owned it before us. Mr. Henderson.
I don’t know enough about farming to tell you what he was trying to build.
But I could tell he was building something.
The man had visions. He had plans under all the rust and rot.
We’ve got plans too.
Like the 33-foot school bus we’re planning to turn into a greenhouse.
Or a chicken coop.
Or both.
It’ll probably start as one and slowly morph into some sort of post-apocalyptic garden-on-wheels situation. We’ll see.
But we knew we didn’t need to hold onto all of Mr. Henderson’s projects.
Like the two busted-up tillers, the vintage Sears wood chipper including a squirrel penthouse, and a rusty truck utility box with a door bent open to welcome the seasonal wasp AirBnB.
So we dragged it all to the curb.
To large item pickup week. It’s like a quiet festival in our town
You don’t just put something out for trash. You host a pop-up art supply boutique for crafters and carpenters.
Trucks slow down. Eyes light up.
You can hear the gears turning.
“If I weld that to a lawnmower frame, I could build a goat cart-slash-smoker.”
We figured the city wouldn’t come ‘til the end of the week.
To give folks time to rummage and rescue.
By Sunday night, we were wiped out.
Eight loads.
Dusty.
Sweaty.
Admittedly way more fun than the fluorescents of a gym workout.
Only three spider bites.
And no poison ivy this time.
Best of all.
We feel a rejuvenation.
A connection to this land.
Hauling out the old, making space for the new.
We don’t own it yet.
We’ve got a mortgage.
But it’s not about owning.
It’s about tending.
About listening.
About showing up with our hands and hearts open—even when we’re covered in dirt and bug bites.
We bought this place with some ambitious ideas, cabins for the growing kids or guests coming to experience the mountains. Maybe a mini farm, or a community garden, trails or a space for artists and chickens and who knows what else.
We don’t know where it’s going yet.
But we’re dreaming with it.
Feeding it with care.
And it’s feeding us back—
with joy, and beauty, and the grounding of Mother Earth that helps you feel at home right where you are.
Right where your boots are muddy. Right where the wild things grow.
I welcome you to leave a comment. Let me know what’s stirring.
I used to have an annual dump-anything trash pick-up day at the house I shared with my first husband. True to what you say, we'd put stuff out 2-3 days early and it would usually be completely gone well before the city dump trucks could come. It was always fun to peek out the kitchen window watching the treasure-hunters.
And yours sounds like the ultimate of treasure hunts! Oh to dig into the life stories of Mr. Henderson through his leftover unfinished projects. There must be some great short story ideas there for a creative soul.
I'm also glad you didn't get any poison ivy this time.
Hobbit wants to know when the school bus greenhouse is done. He will come teach you about the insects you need to keep your plants happy and healthy (he used to do that for the Dpt of Ag at the state of MN).