Yes, I am one of the legions of middle-aged white women who want to have a farm when they retire. But! I was raised by an actual Michigan farm girl and can ride, shoot, and make preserves. I can use a chainsaw. I own chickens. I know how to change spark plugs and prune apple trees. I have vaccinated cattle. I use antlers sheepskins in all my decorating.* I don’t pass out when I see blood, even my own. See?
We just won’t grow vegetables on my farm because I can’t do that for some reason. I’m thinking an orchard, brébis sheep, and chickens. Of course a couple horses, probably Morgans again. And maybe some of those little kune kune pigs that are apparently delicious but are definitely so ridiculously cute that I will have to pay someone else to kill them. And I will have to have at least one llama to keep the coyotes away from the sheep, which means I’m going to get stomach acid spit in my face at some point. So, don’t think I’m not ready to suffer for my dreams.
Since we’re dreaming, I think I’ll have my farm in the Two Rock Valley between Petaluma and the coast. I drive through there whenever I go to Wright’s Beach, and I always think it looks like the place I saw in my head when I was a kid daydreaming about where I wanted to live when I grew up. If you want a preview of what it’ll look like when you come visit me, check out the Pinterest board below. (BTW I had an absolute nightmare finding interior-design pics for this one. Type in “modern farmhouse” and you’re down a Joanna Gaines wormhole. All I wanted were pictures of farmhouses built in the 1920s that still looked like they had been built to look on the inside, not like the show home in a gated Fort Worth exurb. The closest I could get with my Google Fu was “rustic minimalist Victorian,” and it was not very close, let me tell you….)
*Ten points if you got the Beauty and the Beast reference.
The Rookery 