*The waving. As I cut through and dragged branches late this afternoon, I did my best duty to wave at all the cars passing through. This is what you do when you live in the country. Life is both private (there are not very many people around me, at all) and public (the expectation is you wave and smile and greet everyone. And in my case the farm is exposed by roads on three sides, which means I am visible - all the time). But that's beside the point. I suddenly felt (oddly) old. It may not be so much that I felt old, as in I felt separated from this place. I didn't recognize all the cars. Or the faces in the cars. Maybe it's that I feel the time, the time spent not being at the farm each day. Not participating. Not woven into the fabric of the country block, the neighborhood. I also, for some reason, realized that I must look older than I did to passers by. Older than I did in 2013, when someone would have first rounded the country corner to see me awkwardly wrangling goats or dragging the chicken house. Maybe I just feel like (gasp) an adult? I am not sure what it is, but the feeling of it caught me deep.