Monday, September 29, 2014

The Beginning of Acceptance

Today I was mowing the back 40 (literally) and I came to realize something:  Somehow I became a farmer.

There was never any intent.  There was never any grand plan.  There was never any spiral notebook filled with photos of barns and cows and corn cobs.

If anything, in high school my plan was to head to the big city of Seattle and put my roots in the asphalt of the city.

My stepping stone to that concrete pad was a small school on the Coast of Washington that gave me a basketball scholarship.  Then a summer job to pay for the next year of college because I was on academic probation because, dang, college was fun.

Then a co-worker who asked me to go on a ride on his motorcycle to go see some baby goats.  I turned down that fantastic pick-up line.  A month later I got stood up and asked HIM to go to dinner - at a seafood resturaunt (I hate seafood).

We were married a year later, in 1991.

Being young, broke and super lucky, his grandparents had 60 acres in the Cascade Foothills.  While his parents and uncle had part of the property, the original house still stood on one acre and he lived in it.

I use the term "stood" loosely.  It was a ramshackle sorta-two-bedroom, partially insulated building with four walls that really needed a paint job and a roof that really needed new shingles.

Fast forward twenty-odd years to the fact that I can't imagine myself living anywhere but here.  I have traveled all over the world, and at each location, I turn to my husband and say "nope, not here" (and we've been to some doozy places in the South Pacific).

And this big ole gigantic friggin' mess.
I came into this farming thing by ACCIDENT.  Growing up on half an acre, turned into an acre, then another acre, one and a half of that a strawberry field, I knew how to put seeds in the ground and water them.  But butcher a turkey?  Split wood?  Put up fencing?  Ha!

I've done it all now.  Every single hysterical, comical, folly bit of it.  By the skin of my teeth most times.  If you are looking for an expert answer, go somewhere else.  This girl isn't going to tell you what pH your soil should be to make your carrots grow.  But this girl can tell you how to plant three rows of carrots so your dog can dig up one row and you still have two for your kitchen table.

Reality.  That's what it is.  With a huge dose of humor and humility.   And a whole lotta God and grace to go with it.

1 comment:

  1. That's great! It's crazy the cuves life can throw at you. Thanks for your submission to the HomeAcre hop. Feel free to stop by or any of the hosts again this week to submit another :)