Really, it’s true. I want a farm. With a big vegetable garden and fruit trees and chickens and maybe even a milk cow.
A real farm.
There should be pigs, too. And maybe a goat. Goats are good at eating weeds.
And if there’s a pond, then there will have to be ducks and geese. Geese are good watch animals. Nobody messes with geese.
So, that’s my dream. What am I doing about it? Believe it or not, I’ve found myself a realtor and I’m going for it. Well, more accurately, Bill and I are going for it. I’m really fortunate that his dream is the same as mine. We’re going to buy a property and make a farm for ourselves. A family farm, like the kind that used to be the norm.
We might be crazy. (Actually, there are days when I’m quite sure we are crazy, but for other reasons.) When I talk to some people about our plans I sometimes get that look. You know the one — the one that says that they’re pretty sure you’ve gone over the edge. Get out the white coat with the extra-long sleeves that tie in the back and get that girl some help.
Despite that, we keep asking ourselves why not? Why not go ahead and retire from our current life and try something else while we’re still young enough to make a go of it? We can’t find a reason not to and so we’re doing it.
We’re buying a farm. I’m hoping we find one with a nice barn.
Because, actually I really do need a milk cow.