In a few days, I will be a real grown-up.
I am hosting Thanksgiving dinner, and doing almost all of the cooking. The menu...
Starters: cranberry goat cheese, cheddar, brie, chianti sausage, crackers, and olives
The dinner:
Brined fresh Kosher turkey, roasted on root vegetables, basted with white wine/butter
Cornbread chesnut stuffing (in bird)
Riesling gravy
Oyster dressing
Mashed potatoes
Roasted brussel sprouts with bacon
From-scratch green bean cassserole
Cranberry relishes--regular and weird pink
Sweet potato casserole (Andy's mom)
Homemade crescent rolls (my mom)
Apple, pumpkin, and pecan pies (Andy's grandma, sister, and my aunt)
I think that's it. I'll link to recipes once I've determined their worth. Here's hoping...
Monday, November 22, 2010
Leigh's Favorite Things Episode
As I was eating my after-school snack of canned Mediterranean sardines, I realized that I would put them on a "Favorite Things" list, which then made me think about Oprah giving out sardines to a terribly disappointed audience.
And then I decided to make my own Favorite Things list. As I'm writing these entries, I will imagine this:
We've got John Travoooltaaah!
Sardines
Sardines are good for you--packed full of Omega 3's (which we don't get enough of in our American diets), and are a low risk for high mercury. They are also surprisingly delicious. Be wary of bone-in sardines, though. They are easy to de-bone, but the first time I accidentally chomped into a vertebrae--yikes. King Oscar's Mediterranean sardines are my favorite so far, because there are bits of herbs and olives in the marinade. A+.
hulu
There's no way to talk about our lack of cable/network TV without sounding like a pretentious a-hole, so I'll avoid that. hulu is wonderful, though, for those of us who still need a little TV fix now and then. Thanks to hulu, I finally got to watch the entirety of My So-Called Life (which was exactly as perfect I knew it would be when I was an adolescent with dance lessons during its air time), and get to keep up with 30 Rock, The Office, Community, Parks and Recreation, SNL, and Days of Our Lives (that's right, I said it). Even with those few shows, I don't understand how we had time to watch so much TV before--we have to squeeze "our shows" in. (Days of Our Lives is my one fall-asleep-on-the-couch guilty pleasure, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.)
Green Smoothies
Yeah, yeah, I know it's better to make your own in the morning--but that's not going to happen right now. I like Odwalla, Naked, and Bolthouse Farms equally well, but the latter seems to nutritionally pack the most punch for your dollar. Other honorable mentions that make me feel good in the morning: Trader Joe's Prenatal Vitamins (evidently Rainbow Lite brand) and DHA/EPA fish oil tablets, and Gala apples.
Trader Joe's Nourish Spa Shampoo
This is a staple in our house. It's sulfate-free, which is good for dry hair (me) and oily hair (Andy). It doesn't strip oils (sulfates act as detergents), so oily hair doesn't then overproduce oil, and my curls are happier. It does have parabens, which I otherwise avoid. Otherwise it's an absolute steal at ~$2.99 per bottle. The conditioner isn't thick enough for me, but some might be OK with it.
Sherwin-Williams Paint
When we were re-painting almost every room in our house when we moved in, we used Sherwin-Williams paint (Superpaint, and some Duration we got on sale). Its one-coat promise held true, and it was so easy to paint with. I linked to the historical pallets, which we borrowed heavily from. We just got finished doing some exterior painting, and used Lowe's Valspar brand for it (siding and porches). We decided to go cheap because A. we needed to, and B. much of our exterior work (especially the termite-nibbled porch) was akin to polishing a turd (or painting a turd). What a difference... Pay a bit more if you can, especially on interior painting, as it will take less and be better all around.
Le Creuset
Ha! I just visited this site to link it, and the front page boasts Le Creuset as one of Oprah's Favorite Things.
(It's also the most spendy thing on my list, so go figure.)
Le Creuset is like Mac products to me, or small hatchback foreign cars. I do have a few solid reasons to want certain products (my MacBook, my great cast iron pot, my little Scion)... but then I just get caught up in a strange world of wanting ALL of the products, even if I don't really need or want them (for example, I want an iPad even though the iPod is just too much technology for me). I realized this after going into a Le Creuset outlet over the summer--I wanted everything, even the things I thought were kind of ugly. It's a disease. But the products are still awesome.
Gap Outlet
Thankfully, I have a Gap card (fake money!), which works at Gap, Gap Outlet, Old Navy, and Banana Republic. Without it, I'd be naked.
The Gap Outlet is my favorite place to spend fake money, though--great size options, cheap jeans, bargain basement stuff for men and women. Love love love.
Dammit when I linked to the title it's pushing a storewide 60% off sale starting now. And it just so happens we'll be passing through Warrenton this weekend...
Caulk
I caulked a piece of baseboard trim to a troublesome, gross spot of drywall. It worked.
I love caulk.
Sckoon Organics
You will cringe, you will scoff, you will roll your eyes. You just don't understand.
For the creatures: Nutro Tartar Control biscuits, Solid Gold dog and cat food (shiny bags!), Manna Pro Oyster Shells and Poultry Conditioner, earthdog collars
For the garden: Seeds of Change veggie seeds, Bio Dome Seed Starter, livestock paneling for trellises
To watch: Killing Us Softly 4, Food, Inc., 30 Rock, Huge
To read: Twain's "The War Prayer," MLK Jr.'s "The World House," Newsweek's Reimagining Masculinity
I also love listening to rain on a metal roof, like I hear right now... but I can't box that up and give it to you, now can I?
And then I decided to make my own Favorite Things list. As I'm writing these entries, I will imagine this:
We've got John Travoooltaaah!
Sardines
Sardines are good for you--packed full of Omega 3's (which we don't get enough of in our American diets), and are a low risk for high mercury. They are also surprisingly delicious. Be wary of bone-in sardines, though. They are easy to de-bone, but the first time I accidentally chomped into a vertebrae--yikes. King Oscar's Mediterranean sardines are my favorite so far, because there are bits of herbs and olives in the marinade. A+.
hulu
There's no way to talk about our lack of cable/network TV without sounding like a pretentious a-hole, so I'll avoid that. hulu is wonderful, though, for those of us who still need a little TV fix now and then. Thanks to hulu, I finally got to watch the entirety of My So-Called Life (which was exactly as perfect I knew it would be when I was an adolescent with dance lessons during its air time), and get to keep up with 30 Rock, The Office, Community, Parks and Recreation, SNL, and Days of Our Lives (that's right, I said it). Even with those few shows, I don't understand how we had time to watch so much TV before--we have to squeeze "our shows" in. (Days of Our Lives is my one fall-asleep-on-the-couch guilty pleasure, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.)
Green Smoothies
Yeah, yeah, I know it's better to make your own in the morning--but that's not going to happen right now. I like Odwalla, Naked, and Bolthouse Farms equally well, but the latter seems to nutritionally pack the most punch for your dollar. Other honorable mentions that make me feel good in the morning: Trader Joe's Prenatal Vitamins (evidently Rainbow Lite brand) and DHA/EPA fish oil tablets, and Gala apples.
Trader Joe's Nourish Spa Shampoo
This is a staple in our house. It's sulfate-free, which is good for dry hair (me) and oily hair (Andy). It doesn't strip oils (sulfates act as detergents), so oily hair doesn't then overproduce oil, and my curls are happier. It does have parabens, which I otherwise avoid. Otherwise it's an absolute steal at ~$2.99 per bottle. The conditioner isn't thick enough for me, but some might be OK with it.
Sherwin-Williams Paint
When we were re-painting almost every room in our house when we moved in, we used Sherwin-Williams paint (Superpaint, and some Duration we got on sale). Its one-coat promise held true, and it was so easy to paint with. I linked to the historical pallets, which we borrowed heavily from. We just got finished doing some exterior painting, and used Lowe's Valspar brand for it (siding and porches). We decided to go cheap because A. we needed to, and B. much of our exterior work (especially the termite-nibbled porch) was akin to polishing a turd (or painting a turd). What a difference... Pay a bit more if you can, especially on interior painting, as it will take less and be better all around.
Le Creuset
Ha! I just visited this site to link it, and the front page boasts Le Creuset as one of Oprah's Favorite Things.
(It's also the most spendy thing on my list, so go figure.)
Le Creuset is like Mac products to me, or small hatchback foreign cars. I do have a few solid reasons to want certain products (my MacBook, my great cast iron pot, my little Scion)... but then I just get caught up in a strange world of wanting ALL of the products, even if I don't really need or want them (for example, I want an iPad even though the iPod is just too much technology for me). I realized this after going into a Le Creuset outlet over the summer--I wanted everything, even the things I thought were kind of ugly. It's a disease. But the products are still awesome.
Gap Outlet
Thankfully, I have a Gap card (fake money!), which works at Gap, Gap Outlet, Old Navy, and Banana Republic. Without it, I'd be naked.
The Gap Outlet is my favorite place to spend fake money, though--great size options, cheap jeans, bargain basement stuff for men and women. Love love love.
Dammit when I linked to the title it's pushing a storewide 60% off sale starting now. And it just so happens we'll be passing through Warrenton this weekend...
Caulk
I caulked a piece of baseboard trim to a troublesome, gross spot of drywall. It worked.
I love caulk.
Sckoon Organics
You will cringe, you will scoff, you will roll your eyes. You just don't understand.
For the creatures: Nutro Tartar Control biscuits, Solid Gold dog and cat food (shiny bags!), Manna Pro Oyster Shells and Poultry Conditioner, earthdog collars
For the garden: Seeds of Change veggie seeds, Bio Dome Seed Starter, livestock paneling for trellises
To watch: Killing Us Softly 4, Food, Inc., 30 Rock, Huge
To read: Twain's "The War Prayer," MLK Jr.'s "The World House," Newsweek's Reimagining Masculinity
I also love listening to rain on a metal roof, like I hear right now... but I can't box that up and give it to you, now can I?
Monday, September 20, 2010
The Day the Chickens Died
I drove home two weeks ago, excited to see Andy as he'd just started his new job. I drove past our house (as one must do before turning into the drive), and I see Andy standing in the yard near the chicken coop, looking at me with hands held as a warning, as if perhaps I should just stop there and stay there. I drove slowly past where he stood, near the chicken coop, and although I couldn't see much, I could clearly see that the bodies in the chicken yard aren't moving.
My heart stopped.
I parked, got out of the car, and walked into the chicken yard with him. It was one of the most horrifying things I'd ever seen--chickens all dead, two roosters barely breathing, and a stunned, paralyzed turkey. (The ducks were fine, though, just waddling around happily. We will never understand this.)
We had no idea what had happened--Mason was tied up (no, this is not our first choice of dog treatment but he cannot be contained as he hurts himself trying to escape and the invisible fence--which worked beautifully for a while--was shorting out and he was constantly loose). We were just stunned.
At one point in our silence among the carnage, Andy choked out, "Maybe the ducks did it."
It was welcome laughter.
It didn't take long before we heard the story--our wonderful neighbor (an older man whose family lives near us and he takes care of cattle next door) had driven by and seen Mason in the coop, so he intervened and tied him back up. So by the time we got home, Mason was contained and snuggling with a dead chicken. (He'd managed to burrow under a tiny spot under the fence after he slipped off his collar. We never said we were good at this stuff.)
Before we found out about Mason, I was stunned and sad, but when we found out it was him I just broke down. He's been such a difficult dog since we adopted him last winter, and now this? I called our rescue, I called other rescues, I called the vet, and I called a trainer. We got conflicting advice, but have decided to Fort Knox the invisible fence, electrify the chicken pen, and hire a trainer for an afternoon for the outside dogs. None of this is ideal, since we know his prey drive is set, it's instinct, but we think it's the best solution. If we didn't keep him, he didn't have much of a future. (And unfortunately, we learned of the old wives' tales about "fixing" the problem with a dead chicken after the fact.)
As for our poultry... we had raised them from chicks, so it was hard to see so much work and time be erased in a few minutes' of "Look at me play, mom and dad!" Our Ameraucanas had just started laying (we had 13 eggs--we still do, I'm planning something special for them), and the Barred Rocks hadn't even started. Turkey's fate was not to be a long-time pet, but he was getting so big and, dare I say meaty? I had to finish off one rooster, but our survivors were the ducks, Buster and Lucille, and Gob the rooster (he's still healing).
We drove to Silex the weekend after it happened, as they were hosting a twice-yearly poultry festival. We came home with three sex-link (Barred Rock and Rhode Island Red cross) hens, three white Cochins (one rooster, he came with the set), and two Buff Orphingtons who are already laying (the others are about five months old). They're living happily in the coop now, as we fix the fencing systems so this doesn't happen again.
We bought most of the new birds from an Amish man. We told him the story, and he said he'd had to shoot a dog who took out about 40 of his birds. He said that these things happen to people who are trying to keep livestock, and they will either quit, or persevere. "If you're going to share something," he said, "you have to be willing to lose it."
We're not going to stop. Even when we should stop, many times we don't. We might be trying to do the impossible again by wanting everyone to live together outside, but we can't not try again.
For now, those 13 little blue eggs will go untouched in the refrigerator, until we can share them and appreciate them fully. Because that's what this is all about.
My heart stopped.
I parked, got out of the car, and walked into the chicken yard with him. It was one of the most horrifying things I'd ever seen--chickens all dead, two roosters barely breathing, and a stunned, paralyzed turkey. (The ducks were fine, though, just waddling around happily. We will never understand this.)
We had no idea what had happened--Mason was tied up (no, this is not our first choice of dog treatment but he cannot be contained as he hurts himself trying to escape and the invisible fence--which worked beautifully for a while--was shorting out and he was constantly loose). We were just stunned.
At one point in our silence among the carnage, Andy choked out, "Maybe the ducks did it."
It was welcome laughter.
It didn't take long before we heard the story--our wonderful neighbor (an older man whose family lives near us and he takes care of cattle next door) had driven by and seen Mason in the coop, so he intervened and tied him back up. So by the time we got home, Mason was contained and snuggling with a dead chicken. (He'd managed to burrow under a tiny spot under the fence after he slipped off his collar. We never said we were good at this stuff.)
Before we found out about Mason, I was stunned and sad, but when we found out it was him I just broke down. He's been such a difficult dog since we adopted him last winter, and now this? I called our rescue, I called other rescues, I called the vet, and I called a trainer. We got conflicting advice, but have decided to Fort Knox the invisible fence, electrify the chicken pen, and hire a trainer for an afternoon for the outside dogs. None of this is ideal, since we know his prey drive is set, it's instinct, but we think it's the best solution. If we didn't keep him, he didn't have much of a future. (And unfortunately, we learned of the old wives' tales about "fixing" the problem with a dead chicken after the fact.)
As for our poultry... we had raised them from chicks, so it was hard to see so much work and time be erased in a few minutes' of "Look at me play, mom and dad!" Our Ameraucanas had just started laying (we had 13 eggs--we still do, I'm planning something special for them), and the Barred Rocks hadn't even started. Turkey's fate was not to be a long-time pet, but he was getting so big and, dare I say meaty? I had to finish off one rooster, but our survivors were the ducks, Buster and Lucille, and Gob the rooster (he's still healing).
We drove to Silex the weekend after it happened, as they were hosting a twice-yearly poultry festival. We came home with three sex-link (Barred Rock and Rhode Island Red cross) hens, three white Cochins (one rooster, he came with the set), and two Buff Orphingtons who are already laying (the others are about five months old). They're living happily in the coop now, as we fix the fencing systems so this doesn't happen again.
We bought most of the new birds from an Amish man. We told him the story, and he said he'd had to shoot a dog who took out about 40 of his birds. He said that these things happen to people who are trying to keep livestock, and they will either quit, or persevere. "If you're going to share something," he said, "you have to be willing to lose it."
We're not going to stop. Even when we should stop, many times we don't. We might be trying to do the impossible again by wanting everyone to live together outside, but we can't not try again.
For now, those 13 little blue eggs will go untouched in the refrigerator, until we can share them and appreciate them fully. Because that's what this is all about.
Louie, Louie
We have a cat.
When I tell people about our pets, most often I start the introduction with "then we accidentally got___"
Avy and Rio were planned (as much as one plans these things--"Look at that precious dog! Let's adopt him/her!"). Then Zippo just showed up and wouldn't leave, then Avy needed Mason, and then... and then, the cat.
My aunt convinced us to adopt two of her neighbor's barn kittens, as we've had mice and we have a barn. Perfect equation. I'd taken Avy and Mason to the vet earlier that week (only Mason had an appointment, but Avy got in the car and wouldn't leave), and they reacted with pure apathy when the vet's cat wandered near. I thought, hey, let's get a couple of kittens. I grew up with barn cats, and if they're anything, they're low-maintenance.
Three days later, I was driving home from St. Louis (where we did the cat pick-up, like a furry stinky drug deal) with two kittens.
One day later, we managed to find one of the kittens in a tree and brought him in (what happens between A and B involved some ugliness on Mason's part, which we just don't need to re-hash. I'll save the gore for the next post). We kept the little guy in the bathroom/laundry room, and decided we'd transition him slowly to be an outside cat, and everything would be fine.
Two months later, he's curled up on the couch with me.
And that's how we accidentally got a cat.
By the way, my cat allergies (which have been significant since a young age) disappeared after a few days of having him inside. Cats are pretty awesome, which I never knew, although litter is one of the worst things ever. I still haven't figured out how to make that not awful (except for the covered box and flushable Swheat).
No more animals now. We're done.
When I tell people about our pets, most often I start the introduction with "then we accidentally got___"
Avy and Rio were planned (as much as one plans these things--"Look at that precious dog! Let's adopt him/her!"). Then Zippo just showed up and wouldn't leave, then Avy needed Mason, and then... and then, the cat.
My aunt convinced us to adopt two of her neighbor's barn kittens, as we've had mice and we have a barn. Perfect equation. I'd taken Avy and Mason to the vet earlier that week (only Mason had an appointment, but Avy got in the car and wouldn't leave), and they reacted with pure apathy when the vet's cat wandered near. I thought, hey, let's get a couple of kittens. I grew up with barn cats, and if they're anything, they're low-maintenance.
Three days later, I was driving home from St. Louis (where we did the cat pick-up, like a furry stinky drug deal) with two kittens.
One day later, we managed to find one of the kittens in a tree and brought him in (what happens between A and B involved some ugliness on Mason's part, which we just don't need to re-hash. I'll save the gore for the next post). We kept the little guy in the bathroom/laundry room, and decided we'd transition him slowly to be an outside cat, and everything would be fine.
Two months later, he's curled up on the couch with me.
And that's how we accidentally got a cat.
By the way, my cat allergies (which have been significant since a young age) disappeared after a few days of having him inside. Cats are pretty awesome, which I never knew, although litter is one of the worst things ever. I still haven't figured out how to make that not awful (except for the covered box and flushable Swheat).
No more animals now. We're done.
Pregnant Pause
So about a month ago, I was convinced I was pregnant.
We weren't trying by any stretch of the imagination--I had been a bit haphazard at the time of day I took my trusty blue pill, and I just felt weird. So the first two weeks of my semester were spent taking test after test and scouring online message boards to compare symptoms. Now, I normally have a fake scare once a year or so, but this one felt real. And terrifying.
We are not ready, the house has not been painted, we are broke, but we can see a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel--things were falling in place, and I was convinced something very much out of place had happened.
I felt like a scared 16-year-old, not the 28-year-old, married-for-four-years person I am. I had just come to peace with our timeline and actually imagining being parents someday, but not now. I was obsessed, overwhelmed, and scared. I was not the sophisticated lady I imagined myself being when we were trying to conceive.
I finally went to the doctor, and as I was waiting to get my blood taken, I started my period.
And then I started crying.
I called Andy, and we were both utterly confused at my reaction. I suppose I'd just convinced myself, and figured it would work out, and then it wasn't true.
Why do these things have to be so scary?
I look around me, and many of my peers are on their second, even third babies, and everyone seems to have their shit together. I feel so dumbfounded by these people. I know, I know, everything's not as it seems... but seriously, our neighbor just dropped off some pickles his wife had made (I'd given them some pepper jelly and blackberry-peach sauce), and I was *horrified* that he was getting a glimpse into our slovenly home. The items strewn around our house, and the laundry baskets and dirty dishes are nothing short of a David Sedaris essay ("Nuit of the Living Dead," to be exact).
Since the August freak-out, we've talked a great deal and are considering moving up our timeline. Since then, I've had significant opportunities presented to me (which I've taken) for the nonprofits I volunteer with, and school is becoming better and busier every semester.
How do people do this? I'm scared we won't make it back to Europe before it happens, I'm scared our finances won't be in order enough before it happens, I'm scared I won't be a good instructor or volunteer when it happens, I'm scared... I'm scared it won't happen when we want it to happen.
But, for now, I'll just keep trying to be a grown-up as best I can, and hope the rest falls into place.
We weren't trying by any stretch of the imagination--I had been a bit haphazard at the time of day I took my trusty blue pill, and I just felt weird. So the first two weeks of my semester were spent taking test after test and scouring online message boards to compare symptoms. Now, I normally have a fake scare once a year or so, but this one felt real. And terrifying.
We are not ready, the house has not been painted, we are broke, but we can see a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel--things were falling in place, and I was convinced something very much out of place had happened.
I felt like a scared 16-year-old, not the 28-year-old, married-for-four-years person I am. I had just come to peace with our timeline and actually imagining being parents someday, but not now. I was obsessed, overwhelmed, and scared. I was not the sophisticated lady I imagined myself being when we were trying to conceive.
I finally went to the doctor, and as I was waiting to get my blood taken, I started my period.
And then I started crying.
I called Andy, and we were both utterly confused at my reaction. I suppose I'd just convinced myself, and figured it would work out, and then it wasn't true.
Why do these things have to be so scary?
I look around me, and many of my peers are on their second, even third babies, and everyone seems to have their shit together. I feel so dumbfounded by these people. I know, I know, everything's not as it seems... but seriously, our neighbor just dropped off some pickles his wife had made (I'd given them some pepper jelly and blackberry-peach sauce), and I was *horrified* that he was getting a glimpse into our slovenly home. The items strewn around our house, and the laundry baskets and dirty dishes are nothing short of a David Sedaris essay ("Nuit of the Living Dead," to be exact).
Since the August freak-out, we've talked a great deal and are considering moving up our timeline. Since then, I've had significant opportunities presented to me (which I've taken) for the nonprofits I volunteer with, and school is becoming better and busier every semester.
How do people do this? I'm scared we won't make it back to Europe before it happens, I'm scared our finances won't be in order enough before it happens, I'm scared I won't be a good instructor or volunteer when it happens, I'm scared... I'm scared it won't happen when we want it to happen.
But, for now, I'll just keep trying to be a grown-up as best I can, and hope the rest falls into place.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Imposter Syndrome
It's becoming more and more clear to me, as I collect years and experience, that I have a lingering case of Imposter Syndrome.
When I was in the waiting room at the Vet's office the other day (just a check-up for Mason), I picked up a copy of the newspaper at which I used to be editor. As I flipped through the pages, I had an unflattering mix of emotions--mostly smugness that he wasn't perfect, and bitterness that he was (repeatedly) doing things that my boss had given me absolute hell for.
So often, I can't accept accomplishments, because I think they weren't deserved, and I think I'm probably not taken seriously, so I shouldn't take myself too seriously.
I don't think I have ever uttered the words "I'm a writer," or "I was a journalist," or "I was an editor," or "I was an organic farm supervisor and farmhand." I mean, the closest I get is: "I'm a [fill in the blank]-ish." Even though I've been paid to do all of those things, I don't think I was real.
Perhaps it is because I never tried too hard, and all-too-often made decisions and floated where life took me without conviction. Maybe it's because I didn't give my not-prestigious graduate work my all. I just didn't know who I was or what I was doing until, um, a couple of years ago.
I've not had that problem at my current job, because it is something I worked for, and it took a long time (in Leigh time) to truly accomplish. I can easily say, "I'm an English instructor" and not feel like a poser (to borrow from my eighth-grade boyfriend's skater vernacular). Although I do still feel like it was a heap of luck that got me where I am. So that Imposter Syndrome--it's lingering.
It's kind of like our farm. It's not reallly a farm, it's only eight acres. We're not reallly farmers, as we have no cash crops or meat livestock (well, except for Turkey--and we're still not sure about him). We're not reallly homesteaders, as we have full-time jobs and don't work hard enough. It just doesn't feel real, just like it didn't feel real to be a newspaper editor or freelance writer.
Well, it's starting to feel more real--perhaps because we're persevering this time, not just wiling away the hours in a job, or a home, that isn't it. We've dealt with more death on our farm(ish)--which was a terrible short story with a moral that we can probably never have cats--and we have piles of barn junk in plain view as they wait for a trip to the dump. My garden is mostly weeds (don't get me wrong, it's already produced enough to more than pay for the seeds I bought--have you seen prices for organic tomatoes?). And this is all OK. Because we're learning, and we plan to get better, to improve. Maybe that's the key to not feeling like an imposter--keeping going.
I'm standing at the threshold of my real (not real-ish) life right now--a career I want, and a lifestyle I want--and I'm determined to not let myself feel like an imposter all of the time. I think it's important to be thankful for what one has, and a good dose of "How on earth was I able to land this gig/house/land?" is good for the soul, but I need more conviction to be confident in what's on my resume and on my to-do list.
Sure, someday I'll tell my grandchildren about the time when I was a journalist-ish when I confused "Chinese" and "Japanese" when referring to interment camps in a (otherwise pretty good) newspaper column. And I'll still feel ridiculous and embarrassed. But hopefully I'll never put -ish at the end of "English instructor" or "Homesteader."
When I was in the waiting room at the Vet's office the other day (just a check-up for Mason), I picked up a copy of the newspaper at which I used to be editor. As I flipped through the pages, I had an unflattering mix of emotions--mostly smugness that he wasn't perfect, and bitterness that he was (repeatedly) doing things that my boss had given me absolute hell for.
So often, I can't accept accomplishments, because I think they weren't deserved, and I think I'm probably not taken seriously, so I shouldn't take myself too seriously.
I don't think I have ever uttered the words "I'm a writer," or "I was a journalist," or "I was an editor," or "I was an organic farm supervisor and farmhand." I mean, the closest I get is: "I'm a [fill in the blank]-ish." Even though I've been paid to do all of those things, I don't think I was real.
Perhaps it is because I never tried too hard, and all-too-often made decisions and floated where life took me without conviction. Maybe it's because I didn't give my not-prestigious graduate work my all. I just didn't know who I was or what I was doing until, um, a couple of years ago.
I've not had that problem at my current job, because it is something I worked for, and it took a long time (in Leigh time) to truly accomplish. I can easily say, "I'm an English instructor" and not feel like a poser (to borrow from my eighth-grade boyfriend's skater vernacular). Although I do still feel like it was a heap of luck that got me where I am. So that Imposter Syndrome--it's lingering.
It's kind of like our farm. It's not reallly a farm, it's only eight acres. We're not reallly farmers, as we have no cash crops or meat livestock (well, except for Turkey--and we're still not sure about him). We're not reallly homesteaders, as we have full-time jobs and don't work hard enough. It just doesn't feel real, just like it didn't feel real to be a newspaper editor or freelance writer.
Well, it's starting to feel more real--perhaps because we're persevering this time, not just wiling away the hours in a job, or a home, that isn't it. We've dealt with more death on our farm(ish)--which was a terrible short story with a moral that we can probably never have cats--and we have piles of barn junk in plain view as they wait for a trip to the dump. My garden is mostly weeds (don't get me wrong, it's already produced enough to more than pay for the seeds I bought--have you seen prices for organic tomatoes?). And this is all OK. Because we're learning, and we plan to get better, to improve. Maybe that's the key to not feeling like an imposter--keeping going.
I'm standing at the threshold of my real (not real-ish) life right now--a career I want, and a lifestyle I want--and I'm determined to not let myself feel like an imposter all of the time. I think it's important to be thankful for what one has, and a good dose of "How on earth was I able to land this gig/house/land?" is good for the soul, but I need more conviction to be confident in what's on my resume and on my to-do list.
Sure, someday I'll tell my grandchildren about the time when I was a journalist-ish when I confused "Chinese" and "Japanese" when referring to interment camps in a (otherwise pretty good) newspaper column. And I'll still feel ridiculous and embarrassed. But hopefully I'll never put -ish at the end of "English instructor" or "Homesteader."
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Feathers and Puffy Eyes
Marriage Rule #74:
Don't talk about finances at 3 a.m. after one of you has been sleeping on the couch and just found out her hen has died.
You live, you learn.
Two weeks ago, one of our Barred Rocks became very lethargic and basically stopped walking. We put her in a box separate from the rest of the flock, got her antibiotics, gave her antibiotic-laced water with a syringe (and apple cider vinegar water), concocted various meals of Greek yogurt, apples, oats, gave her a bath of epsom salts... there was some intense nurturing going on at the Kolb homestead.
But still, her little toes were flaccid and while she gained weight and was healthy otherwise, her feet just weren't working. I was holding on hope she'd start walking, though.
And last night, she was taken from the coop by a predator. The coop, with its cracked-open door and a lack of adequate covering for her (we never leave it open so late, but we did last night). Andy returned from a friend's house at 2 a.m. (where he'd been learning investment tricks and debt advice), and he woke me up as I was sleeping on the couch. "Did you check on Henrietta?" "No..." "She's gone." Just a few feathers remained.
Was I irresponsible? Yes. Was she going to ever walk again? Probably not. I'm not trying to justify the negligence, but I can't help but hope that if her life wasn't ever going to be healthy, that she was part of the food chain instead of us having to cull her. We know that's a part of being who we are becoming... but divine intervention sometimes makes things easier for us.
So I was tired, and so upset with myself and at losing her, and poor Andy tried to bring up that we needed to seriously talk about debt reduction, and I just started sobbing--a few minutes for Henrietta, a few minutes for money, back and forth, back and forth. I went to sleep and awoke with a puffy face and eyes, the tell-tale emotional hangover.
We're just fine now, and these outbursts are necessary--at least that have been for me for as long as I remember. (One of my favorite stories involved my mom leaving me at my Grandma and Grandpa Kellmanns' house when I was two or three, and I proceeded to lie by the backdoor, kicking and screaming and sobbing for about a half an hour. When I'd finished, I walked into the living room and announced to my grandparents, "I don't know why I do that sometimes." That pretty much sums up me at times.)
So we lost our first hen, and one of our hens turned out to be a rooster, so we're down to seven future layers. My parents have a few too many chicks (Mom hatched them in her classroom), so we'll probably adopt a couple more Barred Rocks in the near future. Andy and Denver dug post holes and placed posts for the chicken yard, so soon that project will be finished (there is not much we don't do backward). Mason and Avy have taken quite well to the invisible fence, so their lives have improved ten-fold--lots of buddying around, running and digging and sleeping. (Yes, a year ago I would have argued that invisible fences are cruel, but that was before we adopted a dog who could climb over 5' fences and jump out barn windows. Another homesteading rule: You just do what you have to do sometimes. Pragmatism trumps idealism.) Seeing them run together, and greeting us when we get home makes me want to cry--the happy kind of tears.
It's been quite a weekend. Many projects are moving forward, but reality sinks in before we get too comfortable. We need to get serious about budgeting and being smarter with our finances. And I really, really need to weed the garden.
Don't talk about finances at 3 a.m. after one of you has been sleeping on the couch and just found out her hen has died.
You live, you learn.
Two weeks ago, one of our Barred Rocks became very lethargic and basically stopped walking. We put her in a box separate from the rest of the flock, got her antibiotics, gave her antibiotic-laced water with a syringe (and apple cider vinegar water), concocted various meals of Greek yogurt, apples, oats, gave her a bath of epsom salts... there was some intense nurturing going on at the Kolb homestead.
But still, her little toes were flaccid and while she gained weight and was healthy otherwise, her feet just weren't working. I was holding on hope she'd start walking, though.
And last night, she was taken from the coop by a predator. The coop, with its cracked-open door and a lack of adequate covering for her (we never leave it open so late, but we did last night). Andy returned from a friend's house at 2 a.m. (where he'd been learning investment tricks and debt advice), and he woke me up as I was sleeping on the couch. "Did you check on Henrietta?" "No..." "She's gone." Just a few feathers remained.
Was I irresponsible? Yes. Was she going to ever walk again? Probably not. I'm not trying to justify the negligence, but I can't help but hope that if her life wasn't ever going to be healthy, that she was part of the food chain instead of us having to cull her. We know that's a part of being who we are becoming... but divine intervention sometimes makes things easier for us.
So I was tired, and so upset with myself and at losing her, and poor Andy tried to bring up that we needed to seriously talk about debt reduction, and I just started sobbing--a few minutes for Henrietta, a few minutes for money, back and forth, back and forth. I went to sleep and awoke with a puffy face and eyes, the tell-tale emotional hangover.
We're just fine now, and these outbursts are necessary--at least that have been for me for as long as I remember. (One of my favorite stories involved my mom leaving me at my Grandma and Grandpa Kellmanns' house when I was two or three, and I proceeded to lie by the backdoor, kicking and screaming and sobbing for about a half an hour. When I'd finished, I walked into the living room and announced to my grandparents, "I don't know why I do that sometimes." That pretty much sums up me at times.)
So we lost our first hen, and one of our hens turned out to be a rooster, so we're down to seven future layers. My parents have a few too many chicks (Mom hatched them in her classroom), so we'll probably adopt a couple more Barred Rocks in the near future. Andy and Denver dug post holes and placed posts for the chicken yard, so soon that project will be finished (there is not much we don't do backward). Mason and Avy have taken quite well to the invisible fence, so their lives have improved ten-fold--lots of buddying around, running and digging and sleeping. (Yes, a year ago I would have argued that invisible fences are cruel, but that was before we adopted a dog who could climb over 5' fences and jump out barn windows. Another homesteading rule: You just do what you have to do sometimes. Pragmatism trumps idealism.) Seeing them run together, and greeting us when we get home makes me want to cry--the happy kind of tears.
It's been quite a weekend. Many projects are moving forward, but reality sinks in before we get too comfortable. We need to get serious about budgeting and being smarter with our finances. And I really, really need to weed the garden.
Monday, July 5, 2010
A New Year
A year ago today, we went to go look at a house in the country on a whim. This would turn out to be one of the most terrible experiences Andy or I had ever experienced, but it lead us to where we needed to be. (If you're interested, she's still listing it on craigslist!)
I'm no Dickens fan, but this past year has epitomized the whole "best of times, worst of times" dichotomy.
On one hand, we sold a house for a profit, found our dream home, my best friends have gotten married, I've gotten to travel a bit, my garden and our new flock of poultry are doing well, and I got a new, stable position at work.
On the other hand, we discovered how untrustworthy people can be (while losing money in the process), were without our own home for a couple of months, work has been on thin ice at times for both of us, we dealt with some dog medical/emotional emergencies, health problems for those we love, and perennial money problems.
One of my favorite things about teaching is the ability to press a reset button after every new semester and school year--I have an internal calendar that lets me know come May, it's time to turn new leaves for September.
This year, July 5 has been added on to my internal calendar. I fully expect that we will be dealt numerous difficult hands in our time on earth, but I'm looking forward to this next year being one of stability, where we can grow what we've planted and keep building for the future. Just a year and a day ago, we thought moving to the country was a couple of years away. We didn't know how to drywall, lay flooring, paint well, do tile work, build a chicken coop, or raise chickens. We'd never cleaned off a dog who swam in our lagoon, laid awake with a maimed pet, dealt with a mice invasion, asked neighbors to bale our pasture, or administered antibiotics to an ailing chicken. Now we do, and we have.
I'd always heard that the first year of marriage was the hardest, but I didn't find that to be true at all. The first year of living in the country? There you go. I'm finding out new and wonderful facets of my husband every day, but we're both having to grow accustomed to the work load and one another's expectations for this life we've carved. Like all things, we'll figure it out.
I'm pressing the reset button on this blog and my life today.
And perhaps, next July 5, there will be goats.
I think anyone who reads this is on facebook, but in case you aren't, here are a couple of photo albums of what's been going on:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=160537&id=504008552&l=bad241e00c
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=156705&id=504008552&l=d62715bb8c
I'm no Dickens fan, but this past year has epitomized the whole "best of times, worst of times" dichotomy.
On one hand, we sold a house for a profit, found our dream home, my best friends have gotten married, I've gotten to travel a bit, my garden and our new flock of poultry are doing well, and I got a new, stable position at work.
On the other hand, we discovered how untrustworthy people can be (while losing money in the process), were without our own home for a couple of months, work has been on thin ice at times for both of us, we dealt with some dog medical/emotional emergencies, health problems for those we love, and perennial money problems.
One of my favorite things about teaching is the ability to press a reset button after every new semester and school year--I have an internal calendar that lets me know come May, it's time to turn new leaves for September.
This year, July 5 has been added on to my internal calendar. I fully expect that we will be dealt numerous difficult hands in our time on earth, but I'm looking forward to this next year being one of stability, where we can grow what we've planted and keep building for the future. Just a year and a day ago, we thought moving to the country was a couple of years away. We didn't know how to drywall, lay flooring, paint well, do tile work, build a chicken coop, or raise chickens. We'd never cleaned off a dog who swam in our lagoon, laid awake with a maimed pet, dealt with a mice invasion, asked neighbors to bale our pasture, or administered antibiotics to an ailing chicken. Now we do, and we have.
I'd always heard that the first year of marriage was the hardest, but I didn't find that to be true at all. The first year of living in the country? There you go. I'm finding out new and wonderful facets of my husband every day, but we're both having to grow accustomed to the work load and one another's expectations for this life we've carved. Like all things, we'll figure it out.
I'm pressing the reset button on this blog and my life today.
And perhaps, next July 5, there will be goats.
I think anyone who reads this is on facebook, but in case you aren't, here are a couple of photo albums of what's been going on:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=160537&id=504008552&l=bad241e00c
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=156705&id=504008552&l=d62715bb8c
Reset
My, five months goes quickly... time to start blogging again in earnest. I hope to switch to a different Web host soon, as I don't love Blogger's photo uploader, but perhaps that's just a terrible excuse for my lack of writing. Let's get back on track, shall we?
Monday, February 22, 2010
What Dogs Have Taught Me
I should really title this, for the sake of full disclosure, "What Dogs Are Teaching Me," as I am a stubborn, stubborn, learner.
During Zippo's medical emergency, and Avy having to retire her position at the foot of the bed, I felt overwhelmed with powerlessness. All of this happened, and I couldn't control it. We should have raised/trained Avy differently, we should have known the moves would have been too stressful for them... should have, would have, couldn't have known.
The unexpected often paralyzes me momentarily. I think that is one of the most distinct flaws I have from being an only child (I wasn't at all spoiled with stuff, but my schedule was my own, and I didn't have to share my time or plans or be flexible due to any other ragamuffins running around). Last fall was full of the unexpected. But I made lists, got back on track, and made it work. (See? I don't really think I'm learning how to be more flexible, I think I'm teaching my surroundings to succomb to my every whim.)
In literature, if the story is set in town, that is often symbolic of structure and following the rules. Conversely, if a story is set in the country, it signifies freedom and a lack of societal confines.
I prefer the country immensely. I feel at home. So why do I hate the freedom it allows?
On the way home today, I stopped up the road to talk to a neighbor. Her cows had broken out and were in the field across the road, and she had come home to her chickens pecking across the road as well. These are the things you must deal with. Fences don't always work, and structure doesn't always hold.
When I got home, I was greeted in the driveway by Mason.
Mason is a great horse of a dog, and he's happy and he loves being loved. However, he hates being confined in the barn (we are going to build them a fenced-in area come spring--winter isn't a great time to adopt a dog, but we do what we have to do), and jumps out of any available orifice (windows included). When this happens, I imagine the worst--he's never going to come back, he's going to bother the neighbors, everything is going to be a disaster.
One of these days, I will take loose animals in stride. One of these days.
But not yet. I slowly got out of my car, and put my schoolbag on the roof so I could grab his collar and take him back to the barn. He proceeded to climb into the car, lie down in the passenger seat, lie down in the back seat, climb into the hatch, and refused to get out. When he finally got out, he flopped on the ground for a belly rub and refused to get up. He's OK--I should be OK. I finally got him up and walked him over to his home (as we walked, I noticed a demolished trash bag, so he'd really had some fun today). He hopped in, Avy scolded him, and they've been fine since.
Later, when I got the mail, the wonderful older man who lives up the road stopped on his way by. He said when he saw Mason was out earlier, he brought his Lab up so they could play and "meet" each other. And they were fine. Everything was fine.
I have spent weeks devising my perfect poultry order: five Ameraucana hens, five Barred Rock hens, one brown Leghorn rooster, a turkey for Thanksgiving, and two Khaki Campbell ducks. Perfect... just perfect. A student told me that when the hatchery includes "extra" chicks to compensate for any death in transit, they're often cockarels, and often an undesirable breed. For a moment, my breath stopped. What about my plans? What about my perfect plans?
Someday, I dream of being as relaxed as my neighbor with the escaped livestock. She leaned in my car window, we talked about wayward dogs and ordering chicks, and she was fine. Even though her animals had broken free of their confines, and weren't exactly as she'd planned, she was fine.
And I will be, too.
During Zippo's medical emergency, and Avy having to retire her position at the foot of the bed, I felt overwhelmed with powerlessness. All of this happened, and I couldn't control it. We should have raised/trained Avy differently, we should have known the moves would have been too stressful for them... should have, would have, couldn't have known.
The unexpected often paralyzes me momentarily. I think that is one of the most distinct flaws I have from being an only child (I wasn't at all spoiled with stuff, but my schedule was my own, and I didn't have to share my time or plans or be flexible due to any other ragamuffins running around). Last fall was full of the unexpected. But I made lists, got back on track, and made it work. (See? I don't really think I'm learning how to be more flexible, I think I'm teaching my surroundings to succomb to my every whim.)
In literature, if the story is set in town, that is often symbolic of structure and following the rules. Conversely, if a story is set in the country, it signifies freedom and a lack of societal confines.
I prefer the country immensely. I feel at home. So why do I hate the freedom it allows?
On the way home today, I stopped up the road to talk to a neighbor. Her cows had broken out and were in the field across the road, and she had come home to her chickens pecking across the road as well. These are the things you must deal with. Fences don't always work, and structure doesn't always hold.
When I got home, I was greeted in the driveway by Mason.
Mason is a great horse of a dog, and he's happy and he loves being loved. However, he hates being confined in the barn (we are going to build them a fenced-in area come spring--winter isn't a great time to adopt a dog, but we do what we have to do), and jumps out of any available orifice (windows included). When this happens, I imagine the worst--he's never going to come back, he's going to bother the neighbors, everything is going to be a disaster.
One of these days, I will take loose animals in stride. One of these days.
But not yet. I slowly got out of my car, and put my schoolbag on the roof so I could grab his collar and take him back to the barn. He proceeded to climb into the car, lie down in the passenger seat, lie down in the back seat, climb into the hatch, and refused to get out. When he finally got out, he flopped on the ground for a belly rub and refused to get up. He's OK--I should be OK. I finally got him up and walked him over to his home (as we walked, I noticed a demolished trash bag, so he'd really had some fun today). He hopped in, Avy scolded him, and they've been fine since.
Later, when I got the mail, the wonderful older man who lives up the road stopped on his way by. He said when he saw Mason was out earlier, he brought his Lab up so they could play and "meet" each other. And they were fine. Everything was fine.
I have spent weeks devising my perfect poultry order: five Ameraucana hens, five Barred Rock hens, one brown Leghorn rooster, a turkey for Thanksgiving, and two Khaki Campbell ducks. Perfect... just perfect. A student told me that when the hatchery includes "extra" chicks to compensate for any death in transit, they're often cockarels, and often an undesirable breed. For a moment, my breath stopped. What about my plans? What about my perfect plans?
Someday, I dream of being as relaxed as my neighbor with the escaped livestock. She leaned in my car window, we talked about wayward dogs and ordering chicks, and she was fine. Even though her animals had broken free of their confines, and weren't exactly as she'd planned, she was fine.
And I will be, too.
Canine Chaos
As well as the real estate catastrophe of 2009, we also suffered a difficult transition period with our dogs. Our eldest, Avy, always had domineering tendencies, but she became increasingly unhinged as the time at my parents' house increased.
They have a small Corgi who she lashed out at a few times, and then the last weekend we were there, she attacked our Zippo (the small dogs competing for our attention set her off, and she became violent).
We thought he was OK for a few days, but he became more and more lethargic and finally stopped getting up--we set an appointment for the vet, and long, awful story short, he had extensive surgery for infected bite punctures (which were hidden underneath his hair), and we are lucky he survived. The vet--after seeing the extent of the damage--suggested that we should not keep them together, and that Avy couldn't really be trusted, especially if we have children around someday. This was during the first week living in our house, and while it was an absolutely traumatic experience, I can't stress enough the amazing support and care he received at the New Haven Veterinary Clinic under the guidance of Dr. Michelle Schulte.
With her OK, we decided to transition Avy into an outside dog, with the intention of getting her a companion (a larger, docile companion who could keep her temper in check). Our house renovations for that weekend were put off, and under the last warm sun of the fall, we transformed half of the barn into dog paradise. She was fine. Zippo was going to be fine. (And Rio is always fine, no matter what.)
Three weeks later, I drove to St. Louis to pick up a new addition to our family, Mason. He was a rescue Lab mix, who had lived his short life on a short chain in southern Missouri when a neighbor heard that his owners were going to shoot him because they didn't want him anymore. Now, he's ours.
More later. For now, I'm just rambling.
They have a small Corgi who she lashed out at a few times, and then the last weekend we were there, she attacked our Zippo (the small dogs competing for our attention set her off, and she became violent).
We thought he was OK for a few days, but he became more and more lethargic and finally stopped getting up--we set an appointment for the vet, and long, awful story short, he had extensive surgery for infected bite punctures (which were hidden underneath his hair), and we are lucky he survived. The vet--after seeing the extent of the damage--suggested that we should not keep them together, and that Avy couldn't really be trusted, especially if we have children around someday. This was during the first week living in our house, and while it was an absolutely traumatic experience, I can't stress enough the amazing support and care he received at the New Haven Veterinary Clinic under the guidance of Dr. Michelle Schulte.
With her OK, we decided to transition Avy into an outside dog, with the intention of getting her a companion (a larger, docile companion who could keep her temper in check). Our house renovations for that weekend were put off, and under the last warm sun of the fall, we transformed half of the barn into dog paradise. She was fine. Zippo was going to be fine. (And Rio is always fine, no matter what.)
Three weeks later, I drove to St. Louis to pick up a new addition to our family, Mason. He was a rescue Lab mix, who had lived his short life on a short chain in southern Missouri when a neighbor heard that his owners were going to shoot him because they didn't want him anymore. Now, he's ours.
More later. For now, I'm just rambling.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
I Need Sun
I keep looking at my recent seed orders to make me feel better--as if I'm reminding myself that spring will happen someday. Here is the summer menu...
Blue Lake Bush Bean
Chioggia Beet
Nantes Coreless Carrot
Armenian Cucumber
Lemon Cucumber
Northern Pickling Cucumber
Rosa Bianca Eggplant
Poncho Leek
Rouge D'hiver Lettuce
Brune D'hiver Lettuce
Red Iceberg Lettuce
Haogen Dessert Melon
Moon and Stars Watermelon
Mammoth Spineless Okra
Red Baron Onion
Early Jalapeno Pepper
French Breakfast Radish
Nardello Sweet Pepper
Bloomsdale Spinach
German Queen Tomato
Roma Tomato
San Marzano Tomato
Super Marmande Tomato
Black Beauty Zucchini
From Seeds of Change: http://www.seedsofchange.com/
Herbs:
Basil
Coriander
Dill
Marjoram
Greek Oregano
Italian Parsley
Sage
Savory
Tarragon
Thyme
Rosemary
(and I threw some Queen Anne's Lace seeds in that order, too, just because)
From Horizon Herbs: https://www.horizonherbs.com
Blue Lake Bush Bean
Chioggia Beet
Nantes Coreless Carrot
Armenian Cucumber
Lemon Cucumber
Northern Pickling Cucumber
Rosa Bianca Eggplant
Poncho Leek
Rouge D'hiver Lettuce
Brune D'hiver Lettuce
Red Iceberg Lettuce
Haogen Dessert Melon
Moon and Stars Watermelon
Mammoth Spineless Okra
Red Baron Onion
Early Jalapeno Pepper
French Breakfast Radish
Nardello Sweet Pepper
Bloomsdale Spinach
German Queen Tomato
Roma Tomato
San Marzano Tomato
Super Marmande Tomato
Black Beauty Zucchini
From Seeds of Change: http://www.seedsofchange.com/
Herbs:
Basil
Coriander
Dill
Marjoram
Greek Oregano
Italian Parsley
Sage
Savory
Tarragon
Thyme
Rosemary
(and I threw some Queen Anne's Lace seeds in that order, too, just because)
From Horizon Herbs: https://www.horizonherbs.com
Saturday, February 6, 2010
What Was That About Risky Dreams?
The view nowI've thought frequently about tearing down this (albeit small) blog and starting fresh. But I won't. Even the terrible parts of the journey help us get to our destination.
I avoided updating for a long time because that big lovely farmhouse in the last post lead to a summer of anxiety and misery like we've never experienced before. It felt too good to be true the moment I found the ad, and I was correct. The seller twisted the contract, threatened us repeatedly, and eventually (due to maliciously combining the twisting and threatening) took our earnest money--our savings--and forced us out of the contract. Meanwhile, gossip started to come out of the woodworks that she had done this to numerous buyers. This was at the end of August.
Meanwhile, we'd sold our home within two weeks of putting it on the market, for a profit.
We had a small nest egg from our house, and nowhere to go. We lived with my parents for two and half months (note: I also taught 25 credit hours last semester). Andy and I are incredibly fortunate to have the families we do, who were there for us throughout every bit of the nightmare, and for the aftermath.
There was nothing on the market that was remotely what we wanted for our next homestead--after all, we hadn't planned to move so soon and our budget was not where it needed to be for the old farmhouse and five - ten acres we wanted. After a few weeks of no success, we finally told our realtor that we would throw in the towel and start looking at newer ranch homes with very little acreage. It was all we would be able to afford.
Twenty-four hours after we made that call, another call was made. My mom got a call from an acquaintance from their church, directing us toward their home, which they needed to sell. An old farmhouse. Eight acres. The area we wanted. For exactly the price we sold our house for.
That is our home now. I still can't quite believe that it happened, but it did. We have our farmhouse and acreage... a barn, shed, pond, woods, a creek... it's ours. The moment we decided we could do without our dream, we got it.
We spent November and December renovating the inside, and we're itching for springtime to get our hands in the dirt outside. We have fences that need to be put up, a shed that will be transformed into a chicken coop/goat barn, gardens to be tilled, a tin roof and siding to be painted... and of course seeds to be started and chicks to be warmed.
The old stone house is nearby, and still for sale. I still fantasize about it sometimes, and then inwardly giggle at the insanity of our even going to look at it last spring. But like I said then, and am living proof of now--we dreamed, we risked, and we're here, exactly where we need to be.
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