Craft Night

I always said I wasn’t going to move away from my beloved farm. Who would want to leave two adorable miniature donkeys that had no interest in becoming a cart-pulling duo and thought that a halter meant, “kick up your heals and run”? Or, the six chickens that laid more than eggs on our front porch? Then, of course, there were the four roosters that insisted the sun came up at 4 AM every day. Our home had the farmhouse charm of plaster walls that hated nails, eroding pipes, and an outdated kitchen and bathroom that I just had to remodel all by myself. Sure, the five acres required Bill to mow every weekend, and the barn needed rewiring before the malfunctioning stall fans started a fire, but that’s all part of farm living.  

Speaking of fires, we were always burning something at the farm, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. There was that time that Katie pulled the plumbing off the barn wall while trying to put out the tractor fire, but that’s another story. Along the fire theme, there was the time the house almost burned down due to faulty electric in the den. Luckily, Bill got Lulu out and put out the fire before it spread. Some of our friends had the audacity to suggest we should have let the house burn to the ground! Then, of course, there were the numerous bonfires that were responsible for Bill’s singed eyebrows. I also miss the sight of teenagers jumping through the blaze during one of my daughter’s epic parties. 

There are many things I miss about the farm: the quiet of the pasture, watching the horses galloping, milking the goats. Well, maybe I don’t miss the time the goat nailed me in my forehead during that one little milking incident.  Thankfully, I didn’t have to go to the hospital despite the fact I was knocked out and lying facedown in the barn for a short time.  I did have a goat hoof-print on my forehead for a week, but I survived.  Even though we had many near misses, like the time the saddle went sideways while Bill was riding the horse, I still miss the farm.

Moving was never on my radar. Living on the farm gave me the satisfaction of practicing veterinary medicine without the hassle of eight years of schooling. In high school, I took Latin so that I could become a veterinarian. It wasn’t in the cards for me to pursue that dream, but somehow, I convinced Bill that farming was the next best thing. So, I doctored my animal charges. I became the queen of birthing goats (even breach). I cured colic in horses and saved many a goat from dysentery. Sure, we did have a small pet cemetery in our pasture, but that wasn’t because my vet skills were lacking.  

Anyway, the time finally came when Bill announced, “We need to move!”  

“What!” I exclaimed, “I just finished soaking the kitchen hardware in vinegar, and the last pallet just went up in the bathroom! We can’t move now, the kitchen backsplash isn’t done, and I haven’t rewired the electric in the dining room!”  

“I’m tired of spending my weekends mowing!” Bill whined. “The farm is not a good place for Jenn in the wheelchair, and Devyn is tired of playing with the chickens.”  

So, after that heated exchange, I finally relented and agreed to look at houses in a neighborhood. My enthusiasm for moving was underwhelming. I continued to paint the kitchen cabinets and lookup goat cheese recipes as if I’d always be on the farm. I never entertained the thought that I was selfish. It seemed I was the only member of our family that loved farm living. Even Devyn’s rooster, RooRoo, couldn’t keep her from begging me to look for a house where there’d be real friends to play with.  

The house hunting brought us to a lovely neighborhood just a couple of miles from the farm. I tried to picture myself on a cookie-cutter block with houses that all had the same paint color, but moving into such a place would be a tough pill for me to swallow! I guess it was the pool and the pickleball courts that convinced me I could consider the move. When Jenn saw the pool and Devyn saw the kids playing, and I saw the looks on their faces, I knew my farm days were numbered.  

The two-story home that we set our sights on had five bedrooms and looked out over a “lake” (it’s more like a pond). Unfortunately, the house had a sold sign out front.  Jenn and I started visiting the neighborhood every day in search of the perfect home. Then, one day, as luck would have it, the “sold” sign in front of the two-story house was missing. I inquired at the office about the house, and I was told the deal fell through. The salesman told me we could buy the house if we sold our house over the weekend.  

“Okay.” I said with conviction, “We’ll get it sold.”  

We sold the farm that weekend. Just like that, we got an offer from the third couple that looked at our house. I know it was because the remodeled kitchen and the pallet bathroom looked so good!  

Now, we live in that two-story house overlooking the “lake.” Now, I have received at least 20 letters from the HOA (about once a month) addressing the wagon wheel I put in the front yard, the kayaks in the back yard, and other various infractions concerning our parking habits. All-in-all, the neighborhood has been a good thing for the family. Jenn loves the pool. Bill is closer to work, and it only takes him about an hour to mow the lawn. Devyn’s friends don’t have feathers, and I have organized a pickleball group. But, perhaps the most surprising change of all is that I am knitting on craft night! Yes, it’s true, I went from milking goats to knitting half a potholder (which has only taken me eight months). Maybe it will be done in time for me to give it to Bill for Christmas next year.

I could end this story by saying how sad I am that I left the farm, but that would not be true. The truth is, I have discovered that, despite the HOA, this neighborhood is made up of wonderful people. Craft night at the clubhouse is just code for “get together and laugh with friends.” Do we ever laugh! Granted, my potholder is the brunt of many of the jokes, but that’s okay. The friendships we’ve formed in our new neighborhood are priceless. They are worth far more than a few fresh eggs. I never thought I would say this, but I wouldn’t trade our craft night for all the donkeys and chickens in the world!