I am sitting in my Lazy Arse chair, sippin’ coffee, looking out my sliding glass doors watching a herd of dear saunter by. Dogs snoring away soaking up the sun. Life is good. Thought I’d tell you a few stories about living out on the farm. So grab a cuppa Joe and walk along memory lane with me for a spell…..
If you would have told me I would spend my life living in the country, I would have asked you what you had been smokin’ since you were clearly stoned out of your mind! I was the kid who never went outside cause I was afraid of every bug known to man. Even ants and flies. My mother had instilled an insane degree of fear of woodticks in us since my sister actually had one attach it’s self to her eardrum as a toddler. Even as an adult I spent many a spring and summer sleeping with cotton balls stuffed into my and my daughter’s ears so nothing would crawl into them while we were sleeping. So moving to the country was never even considered in jest. Funny how life turns out. Suddenly living “off the land” sounded good. Couldn’t get enough of “Little House on the Prairie” books. Started saying workds like, “I reckon” and droppin’ the “g’s” off my words. We yearned for “the good ole days”. Didn’t matter that neither one of us knew squat about raising animals or gardening. We was just a’hankerin fer 40 acres and a mule. In July of ’89, we found our piece of heaven. 40 acres, a huge barn, an ice house, an old garage, a big misc. building, a cute little bunkhouse and oh my gosh, it even had an outhouse. We were as happy in pigs in slop. And did I mention it had an old windmill? Our homestead was picture perfect. On the outside. Inside? Well let’s just say we wouldn’t let our parents see the place until the day we moved in. My dad gave us 6 months before we gave up and moved back to the city. The house had been empty for months and the mice had moved in. It was as they call it, “a real fixer-upper”! Ah, the innocents of youth. Didn’t matter to us that there were no real locks on the doors. That there was one bedroom. That the ceiling and two walls in the kitchen we made of oil cloth and the other walls had barn board on them. And that you could see down into the basement thru the cracks in the kitchen flooring. No tub, but a plastic shower. No furnace, just a big ole oil burner stove and a wood stove down in basement. The chimney ran up thru a hole in the floor in the dining room. Looking back as a mother now, I have to commend my mom for not breaking down when she saw the place. We saw the dream, they saw the reality. TO BE CONTINUED….