Farm it out

So, if you have read any of my blogs at all, you know about how I feel about going north, cottages, cities, etc.  I have made no secret of it.

I work with a girl who I am still getting to know.  She is very nice and sweet, a super hard worker and smart as a whip.  She also owns a farm.

She grew up rural, and moved to this area when she was older.  Her husband's job is here, and since he is very successful at what he does, they stay here.  But her heart and soul is on her farm.

She owns acres of land in the Chatham (I think!  But might be wrong!) area.  She sharecrops the land, to help provide an income.  She has a pond, which is dried up right now, and a house made of straw.  Seriously, it is made of straw as insulation.  It doesn't have any electricity, or indoor plumbing.  She has a dug well, and a dirt laneway.

I have seen a few pictures, and heard her talk about it.  She calls it her special place.  She and her husband go there, no one else.  It is sacred and special, and her peace resides there.

I am so jealous, I could spit.

I have been thinking about cottages, etc, but I am starting to change my focus.  She maintains this other property, but still lives down here.  So it can be done. 

I can already see it in my mind.  An open tiny home.  No TV.  No computer.  A porch, a wild berry patch.  A tire swing, a brook.  Corn or hay, that shines in the sun and waves like water in the breeze.  I can smell honeysuckle, and wild grasses and fresh turned earth.  I can hear cows lowing,  smelling their smells. 

I can see my kids playing in the yard, scratched and bare in places.  I can see walks, and work.  An outhouse.

It makes my heart ache. In a good way.

I think I am going to send her an email today, and maybe take her to lunch this week.  Pick her brain a little.  Find out more about her and her special farm.

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "not now, but maybe soon."