A Home In the Country
I have been in the housing business in one capacity or another since 1991. Over that time one reoccurring theme has been the folks who move into the area from Indianapolis or Chicago who have decided that relocating to a smaller community is an excellent opportunity to live in the country. City people moving to the country -- it always makes me smile. Not because there is anything humorous about living in the country, but what is funny is the expectations of what the country is like among folks who have never lived beyond the city limits. (To put a punctuation point on this I recently met a city family that was moving to a small town nearby who planned to keep chickens and pigs in the back yard. Pigs. Bet they will be the most popular people in the neighborhood.)
Ah, the countryside, quiet, and tranquil, it is a place a person can shed the stress and pressure of career and the innumerable expectations place upon us by daily life, right?
In the interests of full disclosure, I will tell you that I never lived on a working farm. I did live on a multiple acreage property in a farm house among the corn and bean fields for thirteen years. I also kept a horse on a farm outside of town during most of my high school years. While other than alfalfa, the farm was not a crop growing farm -- it was more like a gentleman's farm, complete with a herd of beeves for tax write off purposes. But having had that experience, I know a very little bit about cattle, quite a bit more about horses, and have observed enough to know that you plow and plant in the spring and in the fall gigantic machinery can strip a corn or bean field bare in approximately thirty seconds flat.
Like many of the people I have run into since, my then husband and I wanted "space," a little bit of land to do we knew not what with. But wouldn't it would be grand to have room for the kiddos, and not have to hear the neighbor's music or ambulance sirens at night?
I confess, when my kids were small, I was a self described "earth mother". I didn't go so far as to wear Birkenstocks, but I did engage in quite a few "wholesome" activities. One of those activities was baking my own bread using unbleached flour based upon my mother once telling me that they bleach flour using arsenic. I have no idea if that's true, I've never fact checked it. Keep in mind this is the same woman who told me not to pick my nose because I could punch a hole that my brain would dribble out of. Mothers don't lie, right?
I also made my own jam, canned hundreds of quarts of green beans and tomatoes. In fact, I could probably still find some of those mason jars full of ancient vegetables if I dig through my pantry, there were so many, I can't believe we ate them all. In addition there were six apple trees on the property. I made jars and jars of home made applesauce. In fact my daughter never ate store bought applesauce until she was five, the year we had a late frost and no apples.
"What's wrong with this applesauce, Mom," she asked as she let the weak gruel from the jar that passed for applesauce drip off her spoon. She refused to eat it. I still make homemade applesauce, thick and chunky with cinnamon and nutmeg drizzled throughout. She was right, store bought applesauce is kind of yuk.
We were always in competition with the deer for the low hanging fruit and the vegetables. They ate the sweet corn, lettuce, and also the roses. The roses were my husband's special thing. He'd nurture them like children, buds exploding on the bushes, we would wait in anticipation of a rose bush Eden. Tomorrow would be the day the blossoms would burst forth in all their glory. Tomorrow, the buds were all neatly nipped off; mounded little piles of deer poop let us know who the perpetrators were.
Though occasionally exasperating, wildlife is one of the reasons why I liked living in the country. Our back four, (I'd say back forty but we only had a back four, and another two in woods) was home to quite the variety of critters. There was the normal population of possum, rabbits, and raccoons, but also a few more (to me anyway) exotic creatures, coyotes, red fox, and owls.
The raccoons were particular pests. Cute and clever as can be with their masked faces, they get into everything. They washed their food in the kiddie pool, pooped up a storm on the deck, partied in the garage, and one got himself stuck in the bird feeder. Getting him unstuck was an interesting problem, that involved heavy work gloves and a broom handle. We had a very romantic specimen that came courting for one of the cats. He'd sit outside on the deck and trill through the screen door, hoping to impress my feline with his vocal stylings. He got so excited one night when the cat showed itself, that he jumped on the screen, pulling it out of the track. The door went crashing down, freaking out the cat, who ran outside into the the dark. I recovered the cat the next day, but he was never quite the same, exhibiting an unusual aversion to exterior doors and windows.
When you live in the country, there is no municipality that comes around to spray for bugs. On the one hand, you get some beautiful moths and butterflies in the yard. On the other hand you get some not so beautiful creepy crawlies too. On one memorable occasion I heard a ruckus outside. Upon further investigation I found my husband who had a horrible case of arachnophobia, chasing a wolf spider around the garage with a propane torch. Flaming spider. It was our good fortune that it ran outside and not under the sill plates.
You never know what you will discover on an early morning walk in the woods, ripe wild raspberries, a new born fawn, or...you stumble on a turkey vulture roosting on a low hanging branch. I don't know who was more surprised, me or the bird -- we both screamed and took off in the opposite direction.
For those who don't know, turkey vultures, are the true harbingers of spring. You've heard of the swallows returning to Capistrano? How about the buzzards returning to Hinkley, Ohio? It's true. Vultures are one of the earliest migrating birds to return to the Midwest. Robins are the johnny-come-latelies. Sometimes the vultures turn up a bit too early, when it's still a bit frosty in the morning. They'd flock in the back yard, wings spread, lumbering around like so many 737's readying for take-off, warming themselves in the cold morning air.
Living in the country is unpredictable. You may wake up one day to find cattle grazing in your yard, or sheep on your back porch. If you don't own the cattle or sheep, that can be a problem. Yet, sitting on the deck with your coffee listening to the lowing of those same cattle safely fenced in the neighbor's field, is a gentle way to ease into the day. The neighbor's rooster is another matter. But that's what the country is for, the neighbor's rooster, pigs, and all the other noisemakers be they domesticated or wild. I don't quite understand folks who move outside the city and immediately begin complaining because the rooster crows at dawn, and they do, it's part of their nature, or the grain dryers make too much noise. What did you think happened in the countryside?
And for the folks who have no experience with farm animals who have decided they are going to have them on their country property, do yourselves a favor. Take a class in cattle management or animal husbandry. Do the upfront research. Farm animals aren't pets. I say this all kidding aside. A thousand pound heifer can trample you or your kids. Yes, I know the lambs are cute. So are piglets, but they grow up to be hogs.
When city people talk about their country dreams I remember the old situation comedy called Green Acres. A city lawyer and his Park Avenue wife move to the small town of Hooterville to get away from everything that is wrong with New York City. Recollecting that show and the scrapes the Douglas's got themselves into by not understanding what they were signing on for, while exaggerated, is not too far off the mark. Reality magnified.
Ah, the countryside, quiet, and tranquil, it is a place a person can shed the stress and pressure of career and the innumerable expectations place upon us by daily life, right?
In the interests of full disclosure, I will tell you that I never lived on a working farm. I did live on a multiple acreage property in a farm house among the corn and bean fields for thirteen years. I also kept a horse on a farm outside of town during most of my high school years. While other than alfalfa, the farm was not a crop growing farm -- it was more like a gentleman's farm, complete with a herd of beeves for tax write off purposes. But having had that experience, I know a very little bit about cattle, quite a bit more about horses, and have observed enough to know that you plow and plant in the spring and in the fall gigantic machinery can strip a corn or bean field bare in approximately thirty seconds flat.
Like many of the people I have run into since, my then husband and I wanted "space," a little bit of land to do we knew not what with. But wouldn't it would be grand to have room for the kiddos, and not have to hear the neighbor's music or ambulance sirens at night?
I confess, when my kids were small, I was a self described "earth mother". I didn't go so far as to wear Birkenstocks, but I did engage in quite a few "wholesome" activities. One of those activities was baking my own bread using unbleached flour based upon my mother once telling me that they bleach flour using arsenic. I have no idea if that's true, I've never fact checked it. Keep in mind this is the same woman who told me not to pick my nose because I could punch a hole that my brain would dribble out of. Mothers don't lie, right?
I also made my own jam, canned hundreds of quarts of green beans and tomatoes. In fact, I could probably still find some of those mason jars full of ancient vegetables if I dig through my pantry, there were so many, I can't believe we ate them all. In addition there were six apple trees on the property. I made jars and jars of home made applesauce. In fact my daughter never ate store bought applesauce until she was five, the year we had a late frost and no apples.
"What's wrong with this applesauce, Mom," she asked as she let the weak gruel from the jar that passed for applesauce drip off her spoon. She refused to eat it. I still make homemade applesauce, thick and chunky with cinnamon and nutmeg drizzled throughout. She was right, store bought applesauce is kind of yuk.
We were always in competition with the deer for the low hanging fruit and the vegetables. They ate the sweet corn, lettuce, and also the roses. The roses were my husband's special thing. He'd nurture them like children, buds exploding on the bushes, we would wait in anticipation of a rose bush Eden. Tomorrow would be the day the blossoms would burst forth in all their glory. Tomorrow, the buds were all neatly nipped off; mounded little piles of deer poop let us know who the perpetrators were.
Though occasionally exasperating, wildlife is one of the reasons why I liked living in the country. Our back four, (I'd say back forty but we only had a back four, and another two in woods) was home to quite the variety of critters. There was the normal population of possum, rabbits, and raccoons, but also a few more (to me anyway) exotic creatures, coyotes, red fox, and owls.
The raccoons were particular pests. Cute and clever as can be with their masked faces, they get into everything. They washed their food in the kiddie pool, pooped up a storm on the deck, partied in the garage, and one got himself stuck in the bird feeder. Getting him unstuck was an interesting problem, that involved heavy work gloves and a broom handle. We had a very romantic specimen that came courting for one of the cats. He'd sit outside on the deck and trill through the screen door, hoping to impress my feline with his vocal stylings. He got so excited one night when the cat showed itself, that he jumped on the screen, pulling it out of the track. The door went crashing down, freaking out the cat, who ran outside into the the dark. I recovered the cat the next day, but he was never quite the same, exhibiting an unusual aversion to exterior doors and windows.
When you live in the country, there is no municipality that comes around to spray for bugs. On the one hand, you get some beautiful moths and butterflies in the yard. On the other hand you get some not so beautiful creepy crawlies too. On one memorable occasion I heard a ruckus outside. Upon further investigation I found my husband who had a horrible case of arachnophobia, chasing a wolf spider around the garage with a propane torch. Flaming spider. It was our good fortune that it ran outside and not under the sill plates.
You never know what you will discover on an early morning walk in the woods, ripe wild raspberries, a new born fawn, or...you stumble on a turkey vulture roosting on a low hanging branch. I don't know who was more surprised, me or the bird -- we both screamed and took off in the opposite direction.
For those who don't know, turkey vultures, are the true harbingers of spring. You've heard of the swallows returning to Capistrano? How about the buzzards returning to Hinkley, Ohio? It's true. Vultures are one of the earliest migrating birds to return to the Midwest. Robins are the johnny-come-latelies. Sometimes the vultures turn up a bit too early, when it's still a bit frosty in the morning. They'd flock in the back yard, wings spread, lumbering around like so many 737's readying for take-off, warming themselves in the cold morning air.
Living in the country is unpredictable. You may wake up one day to find cattle grazing in your yard, or sheep on your back porch. If you don't own the cattle or sheep, that can be a problem. Yet, sitting on the deck with your coffee listening to the lowing of those same cattle safely fenced in the neighbor's field, is a gentle way to ease into the day. The neighbor's rooster is another matter. But that's what the country is for, the neighbor's rooster, pigs, and all the other noisemakers be they domesticated or wild. I don't quite understand folks who move outside the city and immediately begin complaining because the rooster crows at dawn, and they do, it's part of their nature, or the grain dryers make too much noise. What did you think happened in the countryside?
And for the folks who have no experience with farm animals who have decided they are going to have them on their country property, do yourselves a favor. Take a class in cattle management or animal husbandry. Do the upfront research. Farm animals aren't pets. I say this all kidding aside. A thousand pound heifer can trample you or your kids. Yes, I know the lambs are cute. So are piglets, but they grow up to be hogs.
When city people talk about their country dreams I remember the old situation comedy called Green Acres. A city lawyer and his Park Avenue wife move to the small town of Hooterville to get away from everything that is wrong with New York City. Recollecting that show and the scrapes the Douglas's got themselves into by not understanding what they were signing on for, while exaggerated, is not too far off the mark. Reality magnified.
Green Acres is the place to be.
Farm livin' is the life for me.
Land spreadin' out so far and wide
Keep Manhattan, just give me that countryside.
source: https://www.lyricsondemand.com/tvthemes/greenacreslyrics.html
Farm livin' is the life for me.
Land spreadin' out so far and wide
Keep Manhattan, just give me that countryside.
source: https://www.lyricsondemand.com/tvthemes/greenacreslyrics.html
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