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.