The story of our farm (and subject of this blog) begins in August of 2002, when my parents and I purchased 176 acres, previously home to a cattle farm (run down and neglected by the time we found it.) I was twenty-five when my father retired and my parents asked if I wanted to buy a farm with them. We would have a place to keep our seven or eight horses and see about breaking into the horse breeding industry.
I was at an odd juncture in my life. I had a little money to invest but no direction. Still on the mend from injuries incurred when I was eighteen, I wasn’t ready to venture out on my own again (there had been several failed attempts by this time.) So I said, sure – why not, and committed a minimum of five years to the project.
In retrospect, I think my dad and I had something completely different in mind when we bought our lovely, secluded, excessively large plot of land. Something bucolic and quiet, where we could live pleasant, easy lives - a place to be away from the world and mend. Though it has allowed us to heal and blessed us in many ways, there was no easy about it, rather, a whole lot more physical labor and tears than we could have ever imagined. (I vaguely recall my mom warning us about hard work, taking on more than we realized and other words of wisdom that fell on stubborn, deaf ears. I think she used the word, smaller - as in less land. We smiled and nodded as we silenced the voice of reason with promises of adventure, a fresh start and success. My sweet mother, seeing we were bent on pursuing our delusions, allowed us to proceed merrily on our naïve way. She even supported us and jumped on the happy train for a celebratory, albeit short, ride. She is a saint, that woman.)
As anyone who has attempted homesteading (this was the first step in building our horse farm) knows, it requires all of one’s time and energy. ALL of it. When I finally came to terms with this vital piece of knowledge, I killed my social life and committed myself to the endeavor. Then I decided to blog about our colossal task. After a few weeks of no posts, I understood that even blogging was impossible. I did not have any extra energy at the end of a work day.
I did, however, keep a journal, as too many things happened that had to be recorded, even if scrawled messily into a bedside book before passing out. For the sake of clarity and continuity, I will add some of those entries to supplement posts, or maybe as complete posts, depending on how coherent I was at the time I penned them. (For the sake of brevity and self-preservation, I will save some entries for the book this blog is outlining.) I also have quite a collection of photos documenting this adventure. (I learned early on that clipping a small Canon Powershot to my belt was the best way to document moments that would otherwise be lost to fatigue.)
Here is where I end the first official post on this neglected little parcel of cyberspace. Sometimes it takes a while to get around to good ideas, as priorities cut in and shove frivolities to the end of the queue. But perseverance and tenacity are great levelers. Just ask the forty-three horses and ten llamas grazing in their green, fenced in pastures, spotted with shelters and automatic waterers – planned and built by three people who had no idea what they were getting themselves into.
