A Plague in the Basement (7/20/2007)

Yesterday was a day for the records.

Over our weekend at home (meaning that we didn't spend it driving all over the countryside looking at farms) we scoured every MLS listing for farms in the areas where we are interested in living. Much to our dismay we realized that we had seen, dismissed, or were thinking about all the farms there were to see at this time.

If we weren't going to expand our search to different parts of the state or minimize our needs to include properties previously excluded, the ones we had seen were the ones we would need to chose from. This meant our task for the weekend did not include a new list of farms to drive-by on Monday and view on Tuesday. It meant determining which of the farms we'd already seen that we wanted to see again. With the intent, of course, that we would make an offer on one.

We carefully narrowed the list down to the top three farms, none of which we were truly certain of, but that's what a second visit is about . . . right? Our realtor set up the viewings and on Tuesday we started out for these very important visits with our digital camera in hand so we wouldn't forget important details about these farms.

The first farm was one we'd only driven by before, but all the research we'd done made it look good. The farmhouse was small, but I have begun to wrap my mind around accepting this as normal for a farm. When we visited it we found it to be a cute Dutch Colonial that was very cozy and comfortable inside. The land, however, had too many trees and consisted of rocky soil and rolling hills. It was no longer a contender.

The second farm was the lovely, but needy 40 acre farm we'd visited before. After looking it over thoroughly this time we realized that it wasn't really as bad as we'd first thought. And this time we got inside the second house on the property, a cottage that proved to be very warm and charming. There was work to do, but it didn't look like too much and it was a great property.

The third one was also a great choice. The owner had come back and finished up some unfinished projects and overall the house was looking better than it had before. We had even begun to think that it might be our first choice until we went down into the basement for the last part of our inspection. The first indication that all might not be well was when a tiny two-inch frog happily hopped past us across the basement floor.

Now it had been raining all day, but the frog was inside the house, not outside. My first thought was how one of the seven plagues of Egypt that God sent when Moses was trying to set His people free were frogs. This is a very unfarming, city-fied thought, I admit, but it does give one pause. Well, it gave me pause.

All of us began to wonder where the water was that this little guy had sprung from. While my husband and our realtor busied themselves searching the dark spider-web encrusted corners of the basement (and there were too many), I scanned the basement walls from the safety of the second or third stair up from the froggy floor (give me a break here, there was more than one frog hopping about).

I was surprised to discover that I could see outside around the blocks of the foundation. The grout between many of these blocks was missing. And the wood flooring above us was not completely attached and sealed to the block foundation. There were bands of light showing along the top of the block foundation as well.

Hummmmm . . . . .

A closer look revealed new support beams installed on raised concrete blocks to hold the main beams of the house up. The basement floor was a study of muddy remains pointing to flooding. Flooding that apparently had resulted in the house having to undergo extensive foundation and support beam repairs that were not done well. This sent us all upstairs and with a definitive swipe of the pen, this place was checked off the list of possibles for our future farming happiness.

This left us with the 40 acre farm to which we'd become attached the moment we first saw it (over the past week I have decorated that farmhouse in my dreams too many times to count). An Egyptian plague in a basement had pointed us in the right direction and we like to think of this as devine intervention.

Our offer had to be made for less than the asking price and as of this moment we are praying it is accepted, or at least there will be some negotiation and discussion about what kind of offer will be acceptable.

In the end we know there is every likelihood that we won't be able to meet the asking price for this farm. But we had to try. If by some incredible miracle, some 'nevertheless' moment (see Facing Your Giants - Max Lucado and 2 Samuel 5:6-9) it becomes ours we will certainly be happy. If not, then we tuck the visions this place inspired away, as many other home and farm buyers across the world have done when their first choice became no choice, and wait for the right place to come up for sale. If you think about us over the next couple of days say a prayer - either way it goes we're going to need it.

Turkeys really are TURKEYS! (7/12/2007)

In our search for the perfect, or even reasonable, farm property, my husband and I have visited four prospective farms over the last two days. They ranged in size from 5 acres (which we are now convinced is too small for our needs) to 40 acres (which really looked overwhelmingly big). Each was an experience in itself. I am convinced that each farm, with or without current residents, has a character all its own.

The first farm we visited was 5 acres. The main house was an old farmhouse built in the 1930's. It had been recently updated and gently expanded, yet still maintained its farmhouse appeal. This 'old' farmhouse appeal was at first a negative for me. I am used to well-kept, professionally built, big city houses. To some, this may sound perfect. But over the last two weeks, after having visited and explored farmhouses built from 1907 through the 1940's, I've opened my heart to the possibility that it doesn't take these elements for a house to be perfect. Each of the old farmhouses I've been in were really cozy. I don't mean 'city' cozy - a description sellers use to describe a very small, boxy house - I mean 'home' cozy.

While you might find small weirdnesses in construction in an old farmhouse you are also going to find a previous owner's hopes and dreams paced out across the original wood floors. You will likely stand at a kitchen sink that has been the place for cleaning up after dinner for the past 40 to 60 years. And you will warm yourself by a wood buring stove in the same way members of several generations before you have warmed themselves.

Most importantly you will come to understand that because the part of the farm outside the farmhouse is the part that made living in the farmhouse possible, the barns and outbuildings will likely be larger and better made than the house itself. I've seen barns that are four times the size of the house. I've stood beneath oak trees that are twice the size of the house and looked out over fields that literally swallow the tiny farmhouse in its acres of billowing hay. Living inside was not as important in the past as living outside was. It's a different lifestyle all the way around and I feel it is slowly romancing the adverturesome part of me back into life.

Farmhouses are not the only place where country differences can be found, however. While viewing the outbuildings surrounding the 5 acre house I previously mentioned, we were followed and harrassed by a very large, perfect to the tiniest detail, turkey. The realtor, Kit, had been told that the only animal that we would need to be wary of was not the dog (as I feared) but the turkey. She was of course right. The moment we stepped out of the house to inspect the various barns and coops the turkey came stomping toward us acting like ... well, a real turkey. A simple 'shoo' didn't do the trick in dealing with this persistent beasty and we had to backtrack and change directions often to avoid a sneaky backside attack. Finally, Kit found a bright yellow plastic bat, left we think by a previous victim, in the yard. She waved it at the turkey and the bird finally showed some respect, gobbling at us from a safer distance.

The farm was lovely, if short on acreage. The current farmers had assembled a surprising group of 'farm' animals. Amongst the cow and calf combo and several horses, peacocks and peahens strutted. A pair of black swans rested in the shade of a tree and mallard ducks hurried away from us in a rush of quacks. I liked the chicken coop best. It was an odd-shaped tent-type building filled with delightful clucking. I opened the door to find the prettiest hens I've ever seen this side of farm artwork. White hens with black spots, red hens, black hens, and white hens with liver spots. I decided that I want hens on our farm just like these.

On a previous jaunt visiting farms along the Oregon - Washington border we came across a farm hosting a two-humped camel, a plethora of curious alpacas, and several shy llamas. By far and away the camel was the best. Dark fur ran from the back of his head and journeyed over each hump to end in a tassel at the tip of his tail. The camel's eyes were exactly like the kind drawn in cartoons, huge and lazy-lidded, and he was tall. I remember hearing that camels stink something terrible, but to me this one wasn't any worse than most farm animals.

One of the other farms we visited possessed a farmhouse that had pretty much been ruined. It had been built in 1942 but had been completely renovated with a new facade. It's porches were erased, replaced with a massive, ill-made deck. An attempt had been made to update every room in the house, but none of the work was finished. Doorframes, baseboards and window frames were often missing or incomplete. New windows had been installed but few still had screens attached for pest-free air circulation. The lovely windowed front door refused to open, jammed into place by a modern lock that was clearly too big. There were no doors on any of the closets (maybe this was a blessing as they too might have suffered the jammed-door syndrome) and once solid interior wood doors were replaced with cheap hollow doors that were badly finished in odd shades of wood stain.

Everywhere we turned, 'upgrades' glared like wounds inflicted by a DIY-wannabe madman (my apologies to any really talented DIY-ers who may be reading this). It was just sad. And offered up for purchase at a very high price.

Our last farm adventure this week was a 40 acre farm that must have been glorious in it's heyday. Two houses, one huge and lovely old barn, an ancient-can-I-sell-this-at-the-antique-mall milk house, and all the buildings that accompany a farm where horses are loved, including an indoor riding arena. Sadly all were in terrible disrepair.

Looking at this farm it was easy to understand why some farmers might become unhandy-handymen. While I was grateful that the lovely farmhouse and its accompanying country cottage hadn't succumbed to the mad repairs of the unskilled DIY-er, it would have been kind if someone had at sometime through the years had tried to halt the disintegration of its beauty with some gentle care. Taking on this farm would mean a lot of money and a heart for thoughtful renovation. I loved every inch of it, but our pocketbooks aren't this deep. And let us not forget that we are supposed to be retired. (sigh)

With every visit to another farm the decision about which farm to finally settle on gets more difficult. Should we buy the picture-perfect place with the questionable-if-in-existance-at-all-septic-system; the 17 acre piece with the modern facade and madcap upgrades; the tiny sweet 5 acres with a fat turkey for Thanksgiving; or, the 10 acres with a new farmhouse but no barns and no fences but a view to love and a price tag that might prohibit the purchase of needed equipment?

How does someone find the perfect balance between what the heart wants and what the farmer needs? And trust me, once you know a farm is in your future the heart does get involved. Personally, I don't think anyone can move to a farm without their heart getting involved.

How did this happen? (7/11/2007)

Two weeks ago I was a newly retired woman working with her husband to build a dream home at the beach. We were going to walk the beach every day, I was going to write my great American novel, and he was going to. . . he was going to . . . what?

This was the question that came to me after attending a wonderful conference about 'following your dreams'. I realized that, while I knew what my dreams were, it had been a long time since I'd heard my husband talk about his dreams. It seemed I remembered a farm figuring somewhere in those dreams.

His grandparents were the last of a long line of family who owned a 100 year old Oregon farm in the Willamette Valley. My dear husband, Joe, grew up on and around that farm throughout his youth and into his early adulthood. When his grandparents died the farm couldn't be saved from sale. The taxes were too high. Despite his own deep desire to have it, the farm was gone and so were a lot of his hopes. He'd told me about the farm when we first met 12 years ago. At that time it had been nearly 15 years since it was gone and it still hurt.

Writing was my dream and when I realized that it was a mobile dream - it could happen anywhere - it became important that I understand what Joe's dream was before we were fully committed to building a house at the beach. We had already bought our lot, had it leveled, purchased house plans, picked our contractor, paid for permitting and were on the verge of digging the footings. What if it wasn't what he wanted?

Joe is the kind of man who, upon learning of my dream to write, became my biggest supporter. If I needed something to keep me moving forward he'd help me get it. He is also the kind of man who would sacrifice his own dreams for mine.

It didn't take much prodding to discover that this is exactly what he'd done. Not that he didn't like the idea of living at the beach, but he had begun to doubt if he could be happy there. While I churned with ideas about stories to write, he was feeling a bit desolate at facing a future with nothing more to do than waste time on eBay buying things he didn't really need.

He hadn't purposely misled me. It just hadn't occurred to him until after he'd retired and after the scramble to get our current home ready to sell, that beach life wouldn't give him much to do.

We are relatively young for retiree's (early 50's) and we both like to think there's a lot of life left in us. Now it looked as if beach-bumming wouldn't be the best place for us, especially if it wasn't the best place for him.

After coming home from the conference I asked him about his dreams. Joe still wanted a farm. After many 'talks' we laid out a plan to find out if his dream of having his own farm was real or just a fantasy. That meant visiting some farms for sale and see if the passion for farming was still racing somewhere in his blood.




The moment his feet hit the gravel drive on the first farm we viewed there was a change in him. The property owners had already moved on and Joe walked quickly up the drive to check-out the house. He spotted the barn and couldn't get there fast enough. He carefully gazed over the fields, checked out the fencing and gauged the length and breadth of the land. All the while I sat in the car and let him have the space to feel the strength of his dreams. This choice to exchange our beach plans for farm life had to be his.

When he finally waved me out of the car my eyes were full of tears. For the first time in a long time there was a buzz of life in him that had been missing and I hadn't even noticed it until that moment. There is no doubt that life's light dims when dreams are abandoned.

As of this time we have spend the last two weeks driving hundreds of miles to see farms that interested us, still looking for that special place where his hopes will take root. While he is excited about taking on a farm I am terrified. Being a full-blown city-chick, the demands of farm life are a mystery to me. I am only certain of one thing, I have a lot to learn.

Just translating city lingo to farm talk is challenging - water and sewer lines in the city become wells and septic tanks on a farm. An outbuilding isn't just the garden shed in the backyard, on a farm it can be loafing barns, animal shelters, hay barns, milking barns, chicken coops, dog runs, wood sheds, carriage houses, well houses and any other number of buildings constructed to house farm implements or its inhabitants. Also, unlike my city house, farmhouses are smaller. Cozy is the term I hear often, and they rely heavily on wood stoves for heat in the winter and good screens for air in the summer. Farmhouse sinks don't have garbage disposals if they are hooked up to a septic tank. Fences on farms are often electrified. Barns look ancient and near collapse from the outside but inside they are a marvel of heavy beams that look indestructible.

Farms are a new world for me and this blog is where I will share the experiences of changing from a city chick to a farm chick, if that is possible.