Farmhouse Fantasies

I think, on some level, I’ve always wanted to live in an old farmhouse. Specifics such as amount of land, presence of animals (or children), and must-have modern amenities have varied.The size and location of said farmhouse has shifted throughout the years, along with the intensity of the longing.

I now find myself in the midst of a deep yearning. The yearning is fueled by a number of things. There is my dog, Oliver, who likes to bark at pedestrians, cats, other dogs, and nothing at all. There are the neighbors who aren’t bad so much as really, really close; their arguments and the aroma of cannabis waft over with such regularity that I could set a clock by them. There are the squirrels in the kitchen sink.

This is not the squirrel from our kitchen sink.  Our squirrel did not stay for coffee.

This is not the squirrel from our kitchen sink. Our squirrel did not stay for coffee.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. If a girl can’t tolerate the occasional squirrel in the sink, she has no business living in the country. You’re right. As a renter, though, I am left to text my landlord who, although out of town for the week, promises to come patch that hole real soon. In my very own farmhouse, I would be a woman of action. I would gather supplies, hold the ladder, and tell my partner repeatedly to be careful up there because squirrels can bite, you know, if they’re cornered.

If we couldn’t patch the hole ourselves, I would call a guy, or sexy butch contractor with an extension ladder, if I could find one. (Side note: Would someone please invent the lesbian equivalent of Angie’s List?) Then I would write about it.

To make the farmhouse fantasy a reality, there is the small matter of needing to sell the house I bought before I moved to Ithaca and the lease we have here that runs through next May. Practicality notwithstanding, my partner and I have started looking. Although we are officially in the “exploratory” stage, I find my way to Zillow at least once per day. I’m also amassing a lovely assortment of apron sink photos on Pinterest.

I may also indulge in daydreams of what it would be like to write full time. I could gather eggs and weed the garden and work on drafts and go days without having to interact with strangers. Sigh. A girl can dream.  In the meantime, I’d better get back to work.


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