I sort of giggle to myself when I use the word farm to describe our home. It might be a bit of a stretch. Or maybe not. These days it feels more like the funny farm than a real farm. So I was thinking about all of this and here is some stuff I came up with.
We grow more weeds than crops.
And by crops I mean corn, beans, tomatoes and cukes.
We have no farm animals.
Pretending to own the neighbor's cows does not count.
We do not own a tractor.
But the Fella does look cute on his John Deere.
But on the other hand~
I've been known to parade around the yard in my overalls.
And cowboy boots.
We have a garden and it's in front of a barn.
We own a barn.
And a chicken coop. No chickens.
Our little place was a farm in its former life.
We have all the old fence posts to prove it.
And a bucket called the "Calf-teria."
That I use as a planter. Found it in the cellar.
We have a cellar.
And I have a questionable star made out of tobacco sticks.
On the front porch.
And I know what tobacco sticks are.
And I love the smell of tractor fuel.
And we definitely live in the country~
In a county that has one stop light.
And one grocery store.
And a small newspaper.
That made the recent MISTAKE of telling me about bear sightings.
In the neighboring county.
To which the Fella says-
Well you wanted to live in the country. True.
Our county has more cows than people.
And they make great neighbors.
The cows, that is.
I bet by now you are leaning towards that whole funny farm thing. I warned you earlier that I was a bit discombobulated. I'm embracing it.