There were so many times I wanted to sell.
When the snow made our long, winding driveway impassable for months.
When the wolf spiders the size of hands clung to the basement walls.
When the lack of Internet led me to the Wawa parking lot to connect to WiFi.
When the memories of my marriage made the walls feel like they were closing in.
And when I fell in love with a man and a community two hours south, creating whirlwind weekends with hundreds of miles logged on my car.
But every time I talked about selling our four acres in the country and moving to a small apartment in town, my daughter insisted it couldn’t be an option.
“It’s such a burden,” I plead with her. “I just can’t keep this up much longer!”
“All that I care about is figure skating – and this house,” she told me in tears.
Countless peers counseled me to sell.
“Children are adaptable,” they said. “Think of your own happiness.”
In many ways, I was…
As a young girl, I grew up on 16 acres of farm land, longing for a day when my parents would gift me a piece of property and I could build my dream home: a cozy log cabin, tucked away in the peaceful woods.
Fifteen years ago, that dream came true!
My daughter grew up close to her grandparents, taking the winding trail in the woods to visit them as often as she liked and enjoying the goats and sheep that roamed my parents’ pasture.
When my marriage ended, the magic seemed to fade away.
In more recent years, the barn stayed empty. The beauty of the countryside got just a quick glance in my rear-view mirror as I left for another road trip. Always running one from one commitment to the next, I never felt at peace.
But when the pandemic issued a stay-at-home order, I was forced to return to my roots.
I put my property to use, and I grew a garden for the first time! While several veggies failed to sprout, my green beans and jalapeno peppers were delicious — and my arugula grew year-round, even surviving months of snow. (I joke that I should become an arugula farmer!)
Since I was working from home and my young son was now homeschooled, we had the time to foster cats and start our own little goat farm — and now my son dreams of becoming a vet!
I soaked in the beauty of the cherry tree that bloomed in my front yard … had it always been so magical? I fully enjoyed every day of the two weeks in July when black raspberries grow wild on my property, picking as many berries as my hands could reach.
I froze my gym membership, setting up a small pool and a trampoline on loan. The kids and I spent nights around the campfire and says walking our cats through the woods.
What had once weighed on me so heavy had now become my paradise.
“You were right,” I told my daughter.
“Can you imagine if I had sold our house and we had to quarantine in a small apartment this past year? We are so blessed.”
“See?” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I told you!”
I love it when she proves me wrong.
Goat Milk Revolution 