Hello!

IF YOU LIKE STORIES ABOUT TWO GROWN ASS ADULTS WHO UPEND THEIR TIDY SUBURBAN EXISTENCE BY BUYING A FARM, THIS IS YOUR HOME.

HELLO! IF YOU LIKE STORIES ABOUT TWO GROWN ASS ADULTS WHO UPEND THEIR TIDY SUBURBAN EXISTENCE BY BUYING A FARM, THIS IS YOUR HOME.

My name is Mithra, and the past five years, I’ve been perfectly content selling antiques, helping clients style their homes, and blogging here once a week. Then, in July of 2019, my husband and I purchased a property in southeastern Wisconsin. It’s a farmette really, fifteen acres with pastures, a stone and timber chicken coop, an antique glass greenhouse, a modern barn, a half dozen hoop houses, and a charming log house built in 1854.

In short, a stunning spot. We aren’t sure what to do with it. This is my prediction: he will work from dawn to dusk and fall into bed with a crooked back and clawed hands, exhausted and happy. I will hole up in the upstairs room overlooking the sheep shed and type out stories that are, in Dorothy Parker’s words, “rough with splinters of disillusion.”

I think I’ll begin with this sentence:

For me, the dream of owning a farm was like my wish to be long-legged or to deep-fry a turkey. While I could imagine the advantages, it was never going to happen.

It all started when…

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