The best thing about moving is going through all the STUFF and getting rid of the STUFF. I’m removing another layer of skin – disposing of more from the past that I am finally able to say goodbye too.

Stuff holds memories, some painful and it can also serve as a barrier and protection against the uncertain future. It’s time to let it go – much of it – and pare down to what works for me and the horses.

We passed on the Fixer-Upper Opportunity location. I am still too worn – crushed by the events of these last four years (loss of Dear One, Hell Job, deceitful and malicious people) to start over and build again from the ground up on someone else’s property. The passion for that type of homesteading has been beaten out of me.

Perhaps one day I will have my own homestead – though I have come to doubt that dream will ever happen or by the time it can happen, I will even want it (as the housing market continues to suck and being able to sell this home unlikely in the years to come).

The place we are moving too doesn’t need my assistance (or at least not in the quantity that former places have needed it so my horses would be safe). I do not need to dig holes for posts, buy wire and gates, make fence, or even build a 3 stall run-in shed – all of which I’ve been in the position of doing.

I sold off the cinder blocks that used to make my grass dressage arena. After toting it about through many moves, I’ve finally said goodbye to the need to be self-sufficient with my portable arena.

I sold the 12 foot gate that kept Big Guy locked up in his run-in shed during his convalescence. That too was used at a place we made for ourselves, and I am not moving it again.

I have up for sale the child sized, pony saddle. Daughter has outgrown it and I am not going to make Pandora submit to the tyranny of being a lesson pony ever again. If grandchildren appear, another, younger pony can step up to serve.

I have stacks in the garage of keep and sell. It’s going to be hard to let some things go. My father grew up poor and always had to have food in the cabinets; in some strange way I have this fixation to have “backups” which I have never figured out why. It amuses husband that I have to buy two – sometimes four – of something but it can really strain the budget, especially if you are a Champagne Girl like I am.

There is no reason to have 8 muck buckets or 10 feed buckets. I am no longer working at a 40 stall barn, working for rich people, who couldn’t afford to buy a fucking wheelbarrow that worked or even plastic feed storage cans.

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