Hellbent on the World's Tiniest Farm

I wanted to homestead. I wanted a farm - a goat farm maybe. Or a cow or two. It came about suddenly - as soon as I had babies. We moved to a kind of countryish town and I got chickens and ducks. I started sewing. I started shopping secondhand. The funny thing about this shift I went through- it wasn’t a phase. It wasn’t a thing just because the kids were little. It fit along with the aspect of me that always had a garden. The same part of me that didn’t fit in a world full of gel nails and blowdried hair found a home in the straw and the dirt.

Occasionally I find myself wishing I was a gel nail kind of girl. I’d love to be tidy and put together. But I’ve never been that person. My hands are busy in the weeds (and more occasionally, the fretboard of a guitar.) I’m the kind of girl that stands on her hands. These hands are never bored.

Anyway- we had chickens for about 13 years, then we didn’t have chickens anymore. I swore I’d never get them again. Reason was, when we moved back to town, we didn’t have a good chicken coop. No one wants to be out in the coop at 2 a.m. screaming at raccoons to get off the birds. They bit my ducks in the neck. No idea why. I was able to nurse the ducks back to health- but boy, I was tried of chickens and ducks. Tired of fixing the coop, and farm mess. I was tired but Brad was emphatic, line drawn: never another f-ing chicken.

That’s why when I put in my new garden, I told Brad I needed a coop that was critter-proof. Seriously Fort Knox. He wasn’t happy about it- who would be? I tried to build it myself knowing I would fail and he would feel pressed to step in. It’s the age old story of the wife who wants and the husband that provides in order to shut her up.

The last few weekends, I’ve been in the garden all day. Determined to start most things from seed, I’ve been happy to outwit the sparrows when it came to my lettuce seeds. I’ve also been irritated the onions and carrot seeds are taking so long. I’ve lifted so many huge bags of soil that at the end of one afternoon I was practically crying - my arms had literally given up. Let’s goooo arms! I yelled. Arms were not having it. I went inside and scared myself in the mirror - twigs in my hair and sweaty dirt streaks down my face. I know that look, I thought. That’s my farm girl look. It’s not pretty like the movies make it out to be.

So that’s where I’ve been. Hellbent on the garden. A tiny farm. Seeds and water. Dirt and compost. Sun. Just me, the dogs and my three teenage chickens (just what I need, more teens.)

I don’t like instructions. I want to do it myself. I’ll do it alone and I certainly won’t mind (after all, I’m an only child.) Except for Brad. It’s never done without you. Thank you sweetie for the coop. XO