I feel like we are really starting from scratch.
I should have been documenting this whole thing -- the big leap our family has taken since I last wrote -- but it's almost as if it were too precious, to fragile to really put into words out there in the world. Not just yet anyway.
See, since my last post, we bought a farm. A real, honest-to-goodness farm -- of our own.
We've been working toward this for the last four -- eight, really -- years.
"If only," we'd say, "we had a place of our own."
"Someday, when we actually have a farm..."
"If we ever own our own farm we'll..."
And now we're actually here, on our own farm.
We did first things first. We moved our stuff, turkeys and equipment.
Then, we broke ground.
Then we butchered said turkeys and delivered them across the state for Thanksgiving. (We have so many thanks to give for all the help we got with that.)
And now, that the dust has settled, it's started to sink in that this magical place is ours. Ours.
Then the panic really set in.
When you finally get something you really, really, really want, it can be a bit paralyzing.
Because now, we don't have any somedays. We have todays.
All the things we thought we could make happen if -- they don't have ifs anymore. They have whens. Now the real work starts.
And all that stuff I thought about our someday? Some of it was true and some of it wasn't, reaffirming that darnit -- life, motherhood, farming, love -- it all takes work, no matter how magical the place or how nicely situated the outbuildings or how well-organized the kitchen.
Everything is a bit easier, yes, and we're doing it all in a breathtaking place, but it all still takes hard, heart-ful, back-aching work.
One thing hasn't changed, though: It's still so very worth it.