I Think I Was Meant to be A Farm Girl

Growing up, we’ve always lived in the suburbs.  My father always had a good job, and we lived really well (even though we lived frugally.)  My father grew up on a farm, and as a kid, he would not only milk the cows for the farm his father worked on, but also a neighbor’s farm in upstate New York. 

My mother’s brother (my Uncle) worked and lived on a farm.  It was not his farm, but he worked on the farm and lived in housing provided by the owner.  I loved going over to their house and pet the cows, feed them, give them love.   Also the kittens and the baby pigs (that I later found out was on our kitchen table!)  I hated the smell of the farm, but I loved the farm.

Now, as an adult,  I really think I was meant to be a farm-girl.  No, I don’t like country music (but I must say, I don’t detest it as much as I used to,) but I like the idea of a mini-farm. 

We never had a garden growing up.  So where did my desire of having a garden come from?  Why do I feel like I want to “live off the land” as much as possible?  I’ve gone as far as to thinking about a goat for milk, but I had to draw the line somewhere. Actually, Todd drew that line for me.  I’m happy that he is allowing me to get chicks for eggs. 

Todd is mainly a “burb” boy.  He grew up on a cookie-cutter street in a decent part of town.  But there were houses close to one another, but had a ½ acre of land.  We are kind of in the middle where we live now.  We live in a township.  We own two of the three houses on our dead-end street with no houses across the street from us.  Everything we need is “in town,” about 2 miles away.  Not too far out, but far enough out that it is peaceful, wooded, and animal-friendly.  I have the best of both worlds.