It’s only for Induction Weekend, and we’re only moving as far as the barn. But what an adjustment to our lives it’s turned out to be!

And how you, ask, did we come to throw ourselves out of our home? Well, in a moment of high-mindedness, we answered the Cooperstown Chamber of Commerce’s call for people to set up temporary B&B’s. The village is expecting about over 50,000 guests, and there’s just no room at the inn. Or in the hotels or motels or existing B&B’s. And so we volunteered. We’re glad we did, but the full implications are only now dawning on us.

We shouldn’t be surprised since we have lots of friends, around here and elsewhere, who operate B&B’s. We know from them that beyond the idyllic vision of being warm-hearted hosts welcoming guests into one’s home, there’s the reality: non-stop cooking, dish-washing, scouring of pots, bed-making, toilet- and tub-scrubbing, vacuuming, mopping, dusting. Plus the psychic drain that goes with maintaining that serene, genial image. It’s the duck analogy: gliding placidly along but, under the surface, paddling like hell.

But we’re going to do it all _ even to the point of throwing ourselves out of our own house. For the weekend, we’ll bunk on the barn’s second floor with all the bales of fresh hay and with, as you may remember from my book, the resident population of mice.

Never mind. We’re tough and resilient. Further, we’ll be helping out Cooperstown and housing the homeless (and, incidentally, reducing debt created by that month in Great Britain.) We’re braced for whatever work it all will incur.

What we didn’t foresee was how much had to be done before the fact. I don’t mean just getting the required number of smoke detectors and fire extinguishers, or going through inspection by the Chamber’s quality-control squad. I mean the huge job of making clean and neutral guest space out of three very lived-in rooms _ our two offices and our own bedroom.

Anne and I both value order, and we aspire to neatness in our lives. But, what with our professional work and with our involvements in the community, neatness is not a goal we always achieve. In fact, normally we achieve it only for brief periods. Both of our offices, for instance, are full of paper: unused paper, used papers waiting to be filed, and papers still in use and hence piled on our desks, intermixed with open reference texts and torn-out magazine pages.

Though this all looks like a mess, each of us claims and can even demonstrate an organizational principle at work. But we have to admit it. In their normal state, those two rooms would not seem like welcoming space to people who have traveled a great distance and laid down a chunk of money, expecting a cozy bed-and-breakfast room, perhaps with a nosegay and chocolates arranged on the counterpane.

And so the last weeks have had Anne and me engaged in a large-scale purge of paper. We may be the ones who balanced the money problem with MOSA, just by the poundage we’ve taken there for recycling.

And, besides running my rusty truck back and forth to the recycling center, we’ve both been filing like demons. We’ve crammed paper into existing files and created brand-new ones, all the while fighting the temptation just to label a big bin, "Miscellaneous."

We’re winning. Our desktops now show expanses of wood, and Owen the cat can luxuriate on mine, stretching out full length without elbowing stacks of stuff onto the floor. I think those two offices are going to be ready. But special problems are raised by our bedroom, especially by its bureaus and closets. These, you see, have to be emptied.

My belief (rationalization) is that people coming for induction weekend won’t need closets or bureau space. They’ll probably live out of their suitcases, jumping up in the morning to throw on some clothes, eat breakfast, and rush off for the day’s activities in Cooperstown. But both the Chamber and Anne say no to such thinking. Maybe the guests won’t use closets and bureaus, but those amenities have to be available for use. And so, more purging, especially of the closets.

I’ve been stunned by what’s deep inside my own closet. After pushing stuff in there for 15 years, clearing it has been like an archeological dig. I’ve found clothes that have grown far too small for me to wear, clothes far out of style, clothes I now wouldn’t be seen dead in. I’ve found whole outfits from my old days as a dean, when the uniform of the day, every day, was suit and tie. And I’ve found shoes, sometimes just a left or a right, that date back to the ’70s.

As we’ve worked, Anne on her closet and I on mine, we’ve developed four stacks of clothing. The first is of items we still use; these must be hauled to the attic for the duration. The second stack is of clothing in good shape and fit for donation to the SPCA store. The third is of clothes (mostly mine) that we’ll donate for scarecrow-making at Rotary’s Apple Fest. And the fourth is rags beyond anybody’s use. That’s a big pile.

Tell me, please, are other temporary B&B operators going through these same routines? I hope so. I’d find it a comfort.

Oh, and is anyone else moving into their barn?

Read about Jim Atwell’s new book, "From Fly Creek _ Celebrating Life in Leatherstocking Country" at JimAtwell.com).