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.