In what I call my other life, I shunted responsibility for my life onto others. I spent lavishly, had others pay my bills.  I never made appointments or went to the back or looked at month statements or had any idea how much money I was spending or how much I had left.

When I got divorce, I was stunned to see  how much money I owed, how many loans we had taken out, how thoughtless and oblivious I was. Like many abused children, I once soothed myself by spending money. Now, i feel good by saving money and taking responsibility for it. When the recession came, and I got divorced, and publishing as I knew it collapsed (all pretty much in the same week), my world came crashing down on me.

I have been working hard to put the pieces back and am getting closer all of the time.

Several years ago, we filed for bankruptcy. This week, we will pay off our final debt from that period. I used to be afraid to check my bank balance, now I check it twice a day. I used to never know how much money I had in the bank, now I know it to the penny.

It feels good to manage one’s life, to take responsibility for it, to be broke but debt-free. Maria and I have done this together, but she did not have the problems I had, Maria does not buy things for herself, ever, unless they can be found in a thrift store or consignment shop.

We have been good for one another, I encourage her to be more generous with herself, while I am learning to be thoughtful about money. I love Spring for many reasons, but one reason is that it gives me the change to think ahead for the winter.  I love the four seasons, but if you have a farm, the big one is always winter, unless you plant crops, which I don’t.

Now is when I have to manage it, to think ahead, to order what I need, to be prepared. I love the feeling that comes when the leaves start to turn and I have a woodshed full of wood, and barn full of hay. You better be prepared for winter by October, or you will regret it  until May.

Last week I called Greg Burch and ordered 7 cords of wood for the winter. One and a half cords are already delivered and we started stacking them this weekend. Maria and I are both obsessives, but i love being obsessive about winter. This morning, I called Sandy Adams and ordered 100 bales of hay for delivery by October. Sandy and Brian can bring the square bales in in small batches, or all at once.

We’ll figure a price later, we trust each other, if I’m not home, they can put the hay in the barn and I’ll send them a check. I am proud to be taking responsibility for life and managing money. It was a lifelong ambition for me to learn  how to handle money.

But order the things for winter is only one part of it. Each cord had to dry out in the sun for a month or do, and then be carefully stacked, so it won’t fall over or stay moist. Maria is a whiz at stacking, I’m a bit sloppy. We have to move the old hay up front so we can use it first, and separate the first cut from the more nutritious and fattening second cut for the bitter cold nights of winter.

There is no pony now, so my calculations are different, we won’t need as much hay. As the winters warm, we may need less firewood, but not yet. I love that it isn’t even May and our orders for the winter of 2018 are in. I feel tough and sharp and for good measure, I called the dentist and gently asked for a discount on a bill for work that took too long and was a bit messed up. To my surprise, they agreed.

I’m on a roll. If this keeps up, I might even have some money in the bank one day. But truthfully, I doubt it.

This year, we will do all of our own stacking, of the wood and the hay. I can’t do as much of that as Maria with my heart angina, but I can do a lot.

Responsibility is important. It is healing. It makes me strong. It connects me to the world and the people who make it work. It helps me shed the fear and trauma of past years.

I am grateful to the farm, because no one else can really run it but me and Maria. I can’t run away from it, or not know every part of it. Soon I will call Jay Bridge to do some work on the roof, always roughed up by winter. I did hard work in therapy, but the farm is a wonderful teacher. You have no choice but to learn and grow.

And when October comes, I have my own ritual. I stand in the yard, look at the hay in the barn, look at the roof, looked at a woodshed stuff with dry wood and I puff up my chest, and say, good work, you are learning how to live.