The First Month

We've been on the farm for exactly one month now. One month down, eight to go, in this experiment of ours.

I love: the open spaces, astounding views, abundant wildlife, absence of city noises, seeing things every day that remind me I'm not in the city anymore--like the guy (albeit illegally and disturbingly) selling wolf puppies in the grocery store parking lot.

I don't mind too much: having to drive about 30 minutes for big box store shopping, commuting an hour to work, the slower pace of people in town.

I wish that: this "gentleman's farm" were a bit less genteel and a bit more "farm." Granted, test-driving a fancy little farm was the right thing to do. This urban cowgirl has always been more urban than cowgirl. I might have been overwhelmed and high-tailed it right back to the city if I'd been abruptly thrown into rustic living conditions.

I'm starting to suspect, however, that our neighborhood (which consists of 20 small avocado farms) is for posers like me with day jobs in the city. We're all probably more of a motley crew of misanthropes seeking solitude than homesteaders looking to connect with the land. From what I can tell, everyone's grove (including ours) is managed by a third-party service. The service takes care of all the avocado maintenance, harvesting, shipping, and sales, and sends the property owner a check. In other words, there ain't no one really farmin' 'round here.

Only one neighbor has horses and chickens. It's hard to tell what goes on behind all the grand gates, but from the road I see an awful lot of well-manicured lawns; acres of useless green lawns in a desert climate. Some people do have small vineyards. But, with the exception of our one equine-friendly neighbor, I haven't seen any barns. No goats, no sheep, no llamas. I just learned that the community once had beautiful horse trails, but the property owners voted to merge the land for trails back into individual lots.

I do love it here of course. Complaining about anything these days is, yes, like complaining that gold coins falling from the sky hurt my head. And just down the road, right outside our neighborhood of avocado farms, there are true hobby farms with horses, goats, and bees galore.

I'm always looking ahead. On the one hand, this attitude drives me to accomplish things. On the other hand, I guess it's a major personality flaw--the exact opposite of being present in the moment. Regardless, right now I'm looking ahead to having a BARN.