Part if it is that I'm getting older, and physically less capable of keeping up with the maintenance this place needs. Bending over to pick rocks doesn't take long to start hurting, and bumpy rides on tractors are verging on unbearable. Then there's the poop yer pants fun of running the tractor on the steep hillsides just to keep the grass cut. Life might literally be too short with one slip of a wheel or an inopportune equipment failure. BTDT.
A bigger part is that I'm not spending my time doing the things I love to do. When I'm out fixing ruts on the driveway, or cleaning up downed trees, or huddling inside because it's too smoky outside to breathe, or the wind is blowing the porch roof off the back side of the house, leading to yet another time wasting exercise, I'm wasting time. I've reached a time in my life where I'm literally running out of time, and I can't afford to waste any more of it fighting Mother Nature.
You're right, I've spent a small fortune identifying and mitigating one after another problem with this particular slice of heaven. And at almost every turn, Mother Nature has shown me the folly of my ways. There's no easy way out, though. On the other hand, if it's not Mother Nature, it's the meth head waiting on you when you come out of the pharmacy with your perscription in your pocket, or a drunk driver, or an inconsiderate neighbor that just has to mow their lawn at 2AM. And I'm not even going into the economic uncertainty around changing places, especially in inflation crazy California. You names yer poison and you takes your chances, and the devil you know isn't necessarily better than the one you don't. I just know that I can't keep doing what I've been doing and expect a better result; it's just never turned out that way. I'm not expecting a bed of roses, but almost anything's better that beating my head against the wall and expecting it to feel good.
