I was so excited when Jill from Spencer gave me this stove for my downstairs workshop kitchen at Stringtown Rising Farm. You can see the post where I visited Jill and brought home the stove here. Moving out of Stringtown Rising on the brink of winter was hectic. I moved as much as I could as quickly as I could. Meanwhile, all matter of calamities cropped up here at Sassafras Farm, keeping my attention on this farm over the winter. Plus, honestly, driving in the winter at Stringtown Rising is so difficult, I was relieved to not have to do it. Even a light winter like we’ve had doesn’t mean driving is easy at Stringtown Rising. In order to move anything, you have to get up and down the driveway, which I just won’t do when it’s muddy or snowy, period. I’ve been waiting for spring to finish moving out and cleaning up. The kids still have half their stuff there because the boys haven’t even been here to move their things. The stove was also still there. I had talked to my construction duo, Dave and Matt, about going over to Stringtown Rising with me to help me get the stove. They start work on the studio next week.
Now that spring is nearly here, I stopped over at Stringtown Rising to assess what needed done there to finish cleaning up and moving out. I walked into the downstairs kitchen and discovered the stove GONE. Jill’s beautiful donated stove. GONE.
Nobody had broken in. The person who took it had a key.
I started crying and shaking because I knew I was never going to see the stove again even though I knew exactly where it was–at his house in Charleston.
I left, driving across the river because I was on my way to Spencer to pick up Morgan from track practice. I was glad I didn’t have to drive out the other way, across the 2 1/2 miles of rough road through three creeks. Now that I don’t live there anymore and drive on that road every day, that road seems EVEN WORSE. I hit hard road as soon as I cross the river the other way. Only a couple miles down a low water bridge had collapsed and the road was closed. I had to go all the way back, cross the river, drive the 2 1/2 miles of rough road again, and back around the long way to Spencer, crying and shaking all the way because my stove was gone.
It took forever to get home. When I got home, I grabbed the phone and called him. I said, “Why did you take my stove?” He didn’t even lie. He said, “I needed it.” I said, “I NEED IT!” I asked him if he would bring it to me. He said no. I asked him if my cousin could come get it. He said no. I said, “Then how am I going to get my stove back?” He said, “I don’t think you’re getting your stove back.”
You all know that it is very rare (or never) that I post something this personal on my blog. But he stole my stove, and yeah, you bet I’m telling you that. So many of you have invested of yourselves in this studio. I want you to know that he stole my stove. And that is who he is, and it should go a long way toward explaining what I didn’t explain here and why I was so terribly, truly terribly, desperate to escape the farm I loved so much.