In the beginning...

…there was a realtor.

Maybe I should clarify. My partner and I lived in the big city and had decided that a move to the country was needed. I had purchased the small home in the middle of everything about 12 year prior, and it was time to not have any neighbors. The small neighborhood was perfect for Gladis Cravitz, but not so good for someone who had an arsenal of vehicles and likes to weld things.

I should say that this was not a whim. I grew up in the sticks. We always had some cattle or horses roaming around. The majority of the good childhood memories I have were made on weekends and during the summer when I stayed on the farm with my aging grandparents acting as hired hand. It was a pretty even balance of cattle operation and crop work, so I had my hands in lots of different things. It never occurred to me during this time that I might live in the city or do anything other than farm, but life just seems to evolve. Or is created depending on which side of the fence you stand.

So, back to Cindy the realtor. This gal had her hands full. Not only did she have to sell a house in the worst market since God created realtors, but she had me to deal with. My partner, “Other” as we continue forward, wasn’t really so picky. I however, had an image in my mind of what we needed. The right balance of outbuildings with mature trees placed in the correct spots within 30 minutes of my “real job”. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Sheesh, poor woman.

After loosing one property while waiting for the house to sell we were starting to get a little antsy. Granted, the first property was far from what we really needed, but it was a place to call home when the little house sold. Thankfully, Cindy found our little piece of paradise and we were set. “It’s even got the silo that you told her we had to have,” Other told me. “I’m not sure what you will think of the basement, but I think the house is cute. Once you see all of those buildings you will be sold. There isn‘t a neighbor within a mile, either!”

Honestly, when we drove in the driveway I could have cared less if it even had a house. It was just what I wanted. Curving driveway through mature trees, milkhouse, two machine sheds, and lots of fenced corrals - that house could have been a dump.

It almost was.

That’s not quite fair I suppose. It has a rudimentary cellar and is the typical two story farmhouse that’s nearly a century old. It just needs LOTS of TLC and no furniture with wheels on it. I would hate for everything that we need to sit on to end up in the low spot in the middle of the first floor. It probably didn’t help that Mr. and Mrs. Roper had well over a dozen animals in the house and chain smoked cigs that I am sure she hand rolled while waiting for the bacon to crisp up. There were some sponge painting issues as well (which were quickly fixed). I remember telling my friends that it smelled like a 50’s diner. The image that gives you should be just about right.

Alas, paradise is ours.

As you read forward you will find a smattering of tales from the farm so far as well as the daily happenings that occur with this life. We’re just getting rolling, so this is the best time to join in the fray - the chickens are laying, the hogs are due in the spring, and Gene the farting cat has made himself at home. Pull up a chair and sit a spell - things are always changing when The Jolliest Rancher is at the wheel.

TJR