In a time of uncertainty, one certainty is that one's feelings are going to ricochet all over the place. Mine certainly have been.

We all wonder what the world will look like in six months or a year, even though it's nearly impossible to know. Will we be in a post COVID world or something more like John Ehrlichman's "modified, limited hangout, er.., pandemic"? The future of New York City, the economic engine of this entire region, is in doubt. It is a metropolis built around office space, in a world in which the diminished relevance of office space has been revealed by the ability of so many to work at home. Other pillars of its economy are tourism, culture, and restaurants, all reliant most of the year on bringing masses of people together indoors, when both public health and the personal preferences of the millions at risk dictate avoiding just that.

Back in May, I wrote: "Whether what I'd call the pandexodus is temporary, and simply an expression of the privileged classes' ability to seek safety and comfort in hard times, or permanent, in a way that will reshape the relationship between City and country in unforeseen ways, is the great question." But I, whose self-image is closely tied to being a Gothamite, had no such uncertainty about my own future. I said "I will at the right time eagerly go back to the place I always thought of as the center of the universe."

Now, approaching six months of full time residence on the farm in which I'm feeling very much at home, I'm not so sure. I'm wondering, seeing how effective we've all been working from home, whether my law practice needs a full New York office, or whether we could get by with just some allocated space in my apartment.

Further, given how much I've reveled in the enjoyable daily component of outdoor physical labor the farm provides, I'm wondering whether I would be as happy, even post-COVID, returning to City life four days a week. I know I would miss the ability to be on top of weeding the vegetables and fighting back the descent of the perennial gardens into chaos. I would worry about Ayşe, our 12 year old blind ewe, who repeatedly loses track of the rest of the flock and requires rescue to rejoin them. The farm has dozens of these constant attention needs, and suffers from absentee supervision.

If I could somehow avoid carrying the cost of both office and apartment, would I thereby put my financial life on a far more solid footing as we face uncertain times? If both the practical benefits of a physical base and the psychological benefits of City life are seeming so much less important, should I fundamentally re-order my life?

My uncertainty has been compounded by the state of my transition plans for the farm. The week before last, I got an email from the lovely young couple with the vegetable CSA who I had lined up to move their operation here and assume stewardship of the land at the end of this year. They backed out. The uncertainties of the COVID world had made them put a priority on certainty, which to them meant staying where they are a bit longer in the interest of buying their own land rather than committing to mine.

I was discouraged, but then I recalled an email inquiry I had received just three days before through the Columbia Land Conservancy's farmer-landowner match program from another couple. They are moving here from Illinois so one of them can assume a job in an agricultural support and education agency. They want the other to operate a farm of about this size to feed themselves, generate additional income, and raise their daughters with the benefits of a farm and 4H upbringing. We met via Zoom. I liked them very much. Discussions have proceeded apace. Our views of what a farm should be are in sync.

A major sticking point, however, is housing. Everyone now knows that houses in the region are a hot commodity these days, thanks to the many folks who found COVID lockdowns in