I thought I would marry a farmer and live in the country.
Of all my childhood dreams and visions (there is still family teasing about that one time I said when I grew up I wanted to be a coffee cup. I was TWO.) this one still manages to haunt me every once in awhile. There is no real basis for this to have ever come to fruition. I am overwhelmingly suburban in my upbringing and current lifestyle. Beyond some friendly discussions at farmer’s markets I have no idea how I even imagined meeting a farmer. I don’t think there was an agricultural department at my college, so I certainly wasn’t stalking the halls trying for a meet-cute.
Yet the vision persisted well into my 20s. I assumed I would have a bunch of kids and run a neighborhood homeschool arrangement. Who was this girl? I so strongly believe in public education and outside instruction I cannot mesh this idea with any sense of who I am today. There are so many struggles and risks to farming life, from weather dependence to upfront awareness of where food comes from to all the manure and insects, that present many doubts about this being a successful lifestyle for me. Today looking at it, I know I could handle the anxiety and hard work (hell, I’d even ADORE the excuse to be a hermit and stay on the farm for weeks on end) but the aspect that bothers me most? Well water.
It is time to let the dream perish. I am too old produce a litter of farm hands and I am far too in love with city water put directly into my household pipes by the big, bad government.