All my life, I have dreamed of living surrounded by nature. Especially as a young girl who aspired to be Laura Ingalls Wilder, I would long to live off the land, for a simpler time, for the slower pace. I didn’t think about that too much after we were married 21 years ago. Now and then, sure. But as our family grew older, and then larger, the thought would pop back up that all these boys NEEDED the ability to roam. To dig. Hunt, fish, climb trees. Build forts, fires, and treehouses.
We began to no longer fit into the cute regulations (and sizes) of wonderful HOAs. Even on our best behaved days, when we were our quietest, our cleanest, our best contained, by sheer mathematics, we’re obnoxious. I don’t mean that in a bad way, as if we’re not respectful or that we’re inconsiderate. I’m saying that even if eleven people speak very quietly when arriving home from a road trip or vacation at 2 am, we’re still loud. I’m saying that trash for eleven people might just often overfill the average size family bins and spill. And I’m saying there has come a time when our family just needs their own space.
Fortunately, that need and that dream collided and we have bought our family farm. We are so grateful. So humble. The boys already have a zipline in the forest. They’ve already gotten to know the fish in our lake. We’ve hung a tire swing under the The Big Tree. We’ve camped out there, explored there, had a birthday party there. It’s home.
We’ve dreamed and thought and prayed and mapped it all out. Our building projects will go in three phases.