I was not born a country girl. Some people are born with open fields and tractors in their blood; I am not one of those people. I was always a decidedly urban person, until (as most stories like this go), I met a man. A wonderful man who had the dream of being a homesteader.
I didn't even know that was a "thing". All I knew of homesteading was from Little House on the Prairie and playing Oregon Trail in elementary school. So I listened to this man talk about moving to the country, building houses from cord wood, and owning goats. I listened to a LOT of John Denver. And to my surprise, it felt very right. I realized that it all resonated with me.
I loved daydreaming about having a farm with him, still assuming it was in a far distant future. I felt dreamy and cozy with him in my big-city apartment. I read Mother Earth News while sipping at Starbucks. I looked at Dignam land catalogs while on my breaks in a busy urban ER. I was mentally on board but not really thinking about the reality of marrying someone who hated the city.
My friends (and most likely, family) thought I was nuts! And maybe you do have to be nuts to sign up for this. If you had told me ten years ago I would be living amongst goats, chickens, pigs, and bees I would've laughed and called YOU nuts.
Moving to the country caused a lot of growing pains. I was the definition of reluctant. Things are different here and I can't imagine living a busy city life now. But it took time and a complete overhaul of my definition of success.
(More of the story to come next week...)