I have this recurring daydream about being Laura Ingalls Wilder, growing up on the prairie of South Dakota (check!); spending winter eating applesauce I made from hand-picked apples (check!); whipping the local children into shape in the local schoolhouse (check!); mending my clothes by candle light as I wait out the long winter (check!)
And now I have P, who calls me his Half Pint, pitching in to help run the farm. Only the farm is a .1 acre city lot on the North Side of Minneapolis. And the apples were hand-picked by my grandma on her real farm. And the local schoolhouse is definitely not one room, and my mending is mostly done in the soft glow of a CFL bulb because I save candles for romantic dinners.
I'm going to document some of our adventures as we create a tiny farm and make our little house into a cozy home. There will be some ridiculous missteps along the way, which I will do my best to reframe as learning experiences.