There is such grace on this whole farmhouse thing.

We met with the inspector yesterday (and the current owner) and at the end of the inspection he said it was a good, solid house, one which would be standing long after all of us were gone. Oh, there were tiny problems here and there, but overall Our House (as we've begun calling it) passed all its important tests. Whew.

After those two hours, Tom and I drove around our tiny new town then stopped for lunch at the niftiest place called ____ 's Malt Shoppe. Oh my goodness. Inside an old 1800's building, the wooden floors were ancient, the decor was in red and white and 1950's music played the whole time. Could this farming town in the middle of nowhere be more perfect? I don't think so.

Your eyes would pop at the many 1800's farm houses scattered all around the quiet farmland surrounding the town. Gorgeous, huge places standing alone or within groves of trees. I'm beyond grateful that we missed this corner of the countryside these 15 years during our drives--the discovery of it all feels so new, fresh and unexplored--

--and as though we have years of adventures before us. In fact, if I choose to write my autobiography, this portion of the book would be titled, The Middle Years. The Country Years.

Has a pleasant ring to it, I think.

Tom and I will not only be living in a different house, but living a whole other way. We want to become more self-sufficient--the huge garden space appears ready to be seeded (the owner said it does so well, and the loam is so deep and rockless, that she has a hard time keeping-up). And I'm hoping to freeze and can what I grow. We may get a dog, we're considering a couple goats. We want to accommodate guests easily and --

Oh my! This life change can't come soon enough and I do hope June will arrive faster this year than she ever has before.



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