Sunday, February 16, 2014

Blooming Where I'm Planted

For the last, oh, I don't know, seven or eight years, I've been saying I want to move out to the country. I want a couple acres to have chickens and some sheep. I want to grow my own foods. I want to be able to see the sunrise and the sunset. I want. I want. I want. Because of my wants, I troll an online realty site, searching for properties that might match up with what I envision for my desired self-sustaining lifestyle. Not long ago, I came across what appeared to be "The One."

"The One" is a small farmhouse on 3.35 acres. One picture shows a red barn. Another picture shows a garage/workshop "complete with concrete floor." The property has apple trees, cherry trees, and peach trees. The garden space is right behind the house, close to the little red barn. My entire being feels a pull towards "The One," and I regularly check in to see if it's still available. Today when I checked in, I saw the price had been lowered by $12,000. It's an understatement to say my mind went into warp speed thinking about finally moving out to my own piece of paradise.

So why don't I go for it, you ask? Well, the answer is complicated. While I think about buying a place in the country all the time, I don't exactly live alone and can just up and do what I want to do. I have to consider my family. The boys are so entrenched in their high school that uprooting them seems incredibly insensitive. I moved several times as a kid and hated it every single time. I vowed when I became a mom that I wouldn't do the same thing to my kids. For the most part, I've kept my promise. Only Lovely Beautiful Daughter changed schools more than I and she liked. That being said, she turned out wonderfully. The boys? While they haven't said absolutely no to making a high school change, they didn't exactly jump for joy over the idea of leaving their friends and having to make new ones. They're kind of on the fence. They like the idea of country living, being near a lake where they can very easily put in their kayaks, and setting up targets to practice shooting a bow, but there's still the issue of leaving friends and girlfriends.

Then there's Hubby. He's city boy through and through. All he's ever known is the convenience of living in the city. From past experience with him and looking at country properties, I know he'll come up with all kinds of reasons not to buy "The One." He likes to give the impression that he's supportive, but it only goes to the point of looking at a place. No further. No talking to a lender. No taking stock of what we need to do to get our place ready to sell. No "Yes! Let's go for it." When we first met and he was just finishing up refurbishing the house, he told me often how all the choices he made in the house, such as layout, wall colors, and bathroom designs were for re-sale purposes. Over the course of 12 years, I've come to believe otherwise. All of his choices were for him. He never had any real intention of selling the house, and he still has no intention of ever selling.

That leaves me sitting here wallowing in self pity over not being able to go for "The One." At least for a couple of minutes. Then I'll pick myself up, start thinking about seeds for my garden, hoping the chicken wire I just put around the trunks of my fruit trees will do the trick of keeping the rabbits from gnawing them to the point of killing them, and getting to work on the new stained glass piece I was thinking about as I drove to the beekeeping class yesterday. There's also the chicken co-op some friends and I are thinking through, and the rabbits I'm considering raising. While I might not be out where I can see the sunrise and sunset, I do have some of my wants right here where I am.

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