My neighbor stopped by to pick up brown eggs and discuss a macramé piece I’m creating for her. I showed her an antique hutch we purchased for the dining room of our farmhouse. It is the second antique piece we found and got a great deal on.
“See?”, she said, “Look how much you’ve done in a year.” She would know. Her house is in the neighborhood we came from, where our now four year old house is being rented. She is one of the few who watched our family go from newly built house with all the perks in a development with sidewalks, walking path in the woods, backyard garden and lots of neighbors, to a five acre country property with 18th century barn and 19th century farmhouse.
It has been a year now. We moved here before Thanksgiving of 2017. I had taken many pictures of our once organized, suburban life. Our last Halloween in a development with trick or treaters. Our house after it was emptied. After it was professionally cleaned. A video walk to say goodbye to it, still wondering if we were doing the right thing. The 4 PODS of furniture and stuff of life we needed to move from a large house to a farmhouse with tiny closets, quaint bathrooms, and smaller rooms.
The farmhouse is not a box house. Nearly every room has its own particular shape and something special to declare, like stained glass windows, “L” shaped, original hardwood floors, or exposed stone walls. The barn, built in the 1700’s and 1800’s, has rooms, tools and old furniture left behind by previous owners.
This antique rocking chair and foot stool with flip top are my reading chair near the fireplace.
It has only been in the past few weeks that I’m beginning to relax and enjoy living on this homestead.
Everyone who comes to Dancing Timber loves it. The property has ancient wisdom energy about it. I connect with that part the most and it grounds me. The farmhouse is charming and loaded with history and stories I’m determined to uncover.
Since moving here, I have not been sick. Not even a cold. I’m physically stronger. Probably as strong as I was as a teenager when I lived on a small farm with horses. I unload and load hay and straw and stack it with ease. Muck the stall. Dump the wheelbarrow. Carry wood. Work from home, in an office with thick stone walls and windows with deeply set wooden window sills. We marvel at how the house was likely built in sections and how the exposed stone wall in the kitchen was probably once the outside of the house.
The two antique pieces we bought for the dining room were unplanned finds we happened to get good deals on. That’s exactly how we found this farm too. It was unplanned, and we got it at a bargain.
In no way has the past year been even remotely relaxing. Every day is an adventure.
I wonder what else this farm has to teach.