If only I could send you a curtain adorned Julie Andrews, to strum her guitar and sing for us.
“When you read you begin with A-B-C… when you sing you begin with
It has a nice ring to it, right? Property. A piece of land all your own. A blank canvas. We began this journey with an old farmhouse filter on. All I wanted to see were old farms that had stories and creaky wood floors. I wanted a house that needed to be loved again and land that begged to be tilled.
My husband was on board with the old farmhouse idea… barely… he was on the edge of the board. The edge that knows how happy it would make his wife, but also has a very sweaty upper lip when agents start talking about rewiring the whole house, rebuilding entire barns, and oh by the way, it won’t pass an inspection, so do you have $500,000 cash? But he was on. Golly, I love that man.
I would walk him across falling down porches squeezing his hand and saying “oh, honey can’t you see it? You and me out here sipping our wine and watching the sunset…” and he would just squeeze my hand back as his leg fell through a board and say “I can see it. I also see other things…. but I can see it.” Did I mention we were also each carrying a baby?
We wanted a home, but more than that. We wanted a homestead where we could raise our boys. We wanted to teach them that food doesn’t come from a store and eggs aren’t made in a factory, and oh boy, just wait until you see where milk comes from, kids. We wanted to dig in a garden that was ours and paint our own walls. We wanted a way of life.
We just couldn’t find THE ONE. Months turned to years, the search continued as housing prices kept going up. The picture in our head of what we wanted became more and more clear, thus becoming more and more picky and frankly, there just wasn’t much out there to even look at. Gradually the thought of “maybe we should build?” would creep into conversations.
Build our own house. Build our own dream. Write our own story. You want a playroom as big as Timbuktu? Done. You want your man room in the basement and I want a tub that is deep enough to submerge my entire body? Coming right up. Once the building seed was planted, I became obsessed. Taking pictures of other people’s houses, spending evenings on Pinterest just pinning ‘brick accents’…
“It can’t be just any piece of property.” we would say. Feeling the daggers being shot from the real estate agents eyes. “It has to be special.” I even put out an ad on our local facebook community page. New Years Eve 2018 came and we toasted “This is the year!”
And then we found it.
Four years of searching and dreaming and talking and wondering, and on a random sunny January day, we drove out to a piece of property a friend of mine had told me about. And there it was. The mountains, the open space, the trees… Everything we had been imagining. I later told Dan that I knew it was the one when I heard him do his ’emotional sigh’, which meant he was picturing himself there. We wrote the offer, didn’t sleep for a week straight, and then…’accepted. It was ours.
And I know what you’re thinking. But what about my original glass doorknobs and cupboards that great great grandmothers had opened??? What about my 100 year old apple orchard and root cellar? I hear you. The stories will be there. The old, the cozy, the worn will all be there. We will find the stories, they will find us, we will bring them into our home and make them part of it. But…. we will also have a working washing machine and energy efficient heating. It’s all about balance folks, thats what all of the cool kids are saying!
So welcome! Welcome to our new chapter. Welcome to our 20 acres of beginnings. Welcome to Marigold Farm.
next up…. part two