I live in a quiet, (mostly) safe neighborhood with a half-acre lot, surrounded by a few homes, woods and a creek across the street. Traffic is minimal, but occasionally when driving home, I'll have a pseudo-premonition of one of my cats, bloody and run over in the middle of the street. It's traumatic, to say the least, and morbid, and makes my heart stop, wondering if/when the scenario will ever play out. I could keep them locked in the house at all times, but they're feral by nature, not special breeds that have been pampered and declawed, napping in fleece-lined beds by the window as they wait for my daily return.
One of the many topics Tony and I discussed during my recent visit (while drinking my new favorite beer, Moosehead, until 5 a.m.), was the importance of having a dream. Turns out we have a similar vision: owning a piece of property, with a barn large enough to store cats, chickens, and some tractors. The nay-sayers think it's an unrealistic, too-far-from-the-gas-station, expensive beer plan, which is probably why I've been reluctant to verbalize it.
Robert and I spent the weekend looking for puppies and farms, not necessarily in that order. I mentioned some sort of swap would be perfect: they could move into my house and keep some cats, and I'll take their home, in which they'll leave a few dogs. Robert informed me that my debt to income ratio would be great if we were married - officially, the least romantic proposal ever. (Logic is a perfect balance for my impulsivity).
My favorite of the bunch is in Newton, Alabama: 14 acres with 1 barn, 1 equipment shed, a pole barn and a 2.5 acre stocked pond. I've already started to imagine my drive home after a long day's work, sitting on the wooden swing with a beer, surrounded by rolling hills, trees, and lilies from the cabin. My blood pressure feels pounds lower!
I live in a quiet, (mostly) safe neighborhood with a half-acre lot, surrounded by a few homes, woods and a creek across the street. Traffic is minimal, but occasionally when driving home, I'll have a pseudo-premonition of one of my cats, bloody and run over in the middle of the street. It's traumatic, to say the least, and morbid, and makes my heart stop, wondering if/when the scenario will ever play out. I could keep them locked in the house at all times, but they're feral by nature, not special breeds that have been pampered and declawed, napping in fleece-lined beds by the window as they wait for my daily return.
One of the many topics Tony and I discussed during my recent visit (while drinking my new favorite beer, Moosehead, until 5 a.m.), was the importance of having a dream. Turns out we have a similar vision: owning a piece of property, with a barn large enough to store cats, chickens, and some tractors. The nay-sayers think it's an unrealistic, too-far-from-the-gas-station, expensive beer plan, which is probably why I've been reluctant to verbalize it.
Robert and I spent the weekend looking for puppies and farms, not necessarily in that order. I mentioned some sort of swap would be perfect: they could move into my house and keep some cats, and I'll take their home, in which they'll leave a few dogs. Robert informed me that my debt to income ratio would be great if we were married - officially, the least romantic proposal ever. (Logic is a perfect balance for my impulsivity).
My favorite of the bunch is in Newton, Alabama: 14 acres with 1 barn, 1 equipment shed, a pole barn and a 2.5 acre stocked pond. I've already started to imagine my drive home after a long day's work, sitting on the wooden swing with a beer, surrounded by rolling hills, trees, and lilies from the cabin. My blood pressure feels pounds lower!
5 comments:
I've learned about gardening by trial and error. I got some of these from a friend in a pot--the flowers were gone but he promised they had been beautiful. I was short of time at the moment and had only a teeny area left to put them in--it was rocky and not very deep. They did come up the next year and were the fanciest thing in my garden. Then I thought I'd move them to a better place, deeper dirt with no rocks, and easier to water. They did NOT come up in that more luxurious area. Luckily some bulbs had remained in the old rocky spot and they continue to bloom there. Tougher than they look, for sure. I love them.
omg! moosehead used to be my favorite beer back in the mid/late 80s - i have not had it in, well in decades ... damn! i'm getting old - decades??? shame on me.
i know of a great place for sale in OK.
btw, cats & free-range chickens -- ummm not such a good plan - trust me on that one ;-D
This sounds like a nice dream although I have to say having lived on a farm in Ireland for a time when I was a kid that it is much too much work.
Flooz: perferct symbolism for us, I think...
Brenda: my dad keeps telling me chickens can fly...? (there's only one store, 35 minutes away, that stocks Moosehead down here. Looks like they'd better start stocking more...and I always knew you were a woman of good taste. :)
Laoch: YOU have just become my subject matter expert (I would love to see photos!)
Chickens and cats are okay--tractors are a hell of a lot of work. Like all machinery, they break down all the time. Of course, if you're all into fixing stuff, it's fun. If, like me, you just expect machines to just WORK when you need them . . . not so fun.
That's why all machinery-related chores are delegated to the Person Who Can Fix Stuff. Meaning my husband.
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