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.