Tuesday, November 28, 2017


We have a farm. Did I ever mention that? It’s small. Really, I shouldn’t even call it a farm, but I’d been told once that as soon as you have animals of the hoofed variety you get upgraded to that. My husband and I met on a farm and it’s been in our blood ever since. Even when we were in a microscopic apartment in the city, we wanted to have one, me more than him, probably. Almost three years ago that dream came true. We were living in the house that was supposed to be our starter home. Sixteen years later and we hadn’t moved on. We were doing the best we could there. We had chickens, a small orchard, and a garden. I’d thought it was enough. Until someone literally knocked on our door and wanted to buy the place and we started to think that maybe, just maybe we could finally get the land we’d dreamed of. We looked and looked and were just about to settle for living in a microscopic apartment again, this time with three kids, when we found it. Our farm. It’s a little over six acres with a creek running through. You’d drive right by it and not know it was there, and I did, literally, hundreds of times. It’s tucked behind a row of houses so it’s very private. We moved in three years ago on December fourth. Even though it was winter, the first thing we did was to plant a few trees that would be the start of a new, bigger, orchard. I can still see the neighbor’s faces as we were out there in the cold, digging. Or when we pulled in with the chicken tractor in tow. They’ve gotten used to us by now, though, which is good, because we are literally right behind them. We have an orchard here, and a garden, a berry patch and some nut trees. In the Spring we get a couple of pigs that occupy the freezer all winter. We have chickens, both meat and egg layers. And the sheep. We have four, all East Fresian Dairy sheep. You haven’t lived until you’ve have sheep milk yogurt—it’s like eating custard, it’s so rich. Some mornings I go out to do chores, grumbling about how I can’t believe I have to do this and other mornings I go out to do chores thinking I can’t believe I get to do this. Most times the only difference is my attitude. How about you—ever lived a dream you’ve spent your whole life praying for?