Life is a cabaret Farmette, old chum!

The real estate listing called it a “Farmette.” We’d never even heard the term before. But after a little googling and dreaming we determined that a farmette, or hobby farm, might be just what we were looking for. We had an offer on another house when we saw the listing (which was the fourth house we’d presented an offer on. Surely our amazing real estate agent Mary Ann was getting tired of us.) Neither of us felt like (OK, I didn’t feel like) we could take the plunge until we took at look at this farm house – just to be sure. Plus, it didn’t hurt that at the moment I found the listing, we were well into an episode of The Fabulous Beekman Boys, and we had visions of homemade cheese and fresh produce dancing in our heads.

If I recall my exact words when we walked in, I believe they were “Uh oh, Brad.” We loved this house the moment we saw it. We loved the work that was sure to come with it, and hoped the rewards would be just as great. There were almost four acres with peach and apple trees, grape vines, raspberry bushes, three out-buildings and a barn cat that followed us around. And that was before we even stepped inside. Once we got in the front door and past the pint boxes and little sign the owner had written: Help yourself to fresh raspberries, we fell in love with the character of the house. And by character, I mainly mean “dirt.” As far as we could tell, it wasn’t anything a little paint wouldn’t cover up. Or 25-30 gallons of paint … but who’s counting? (We bought so much paint Home Depot sent us contractor discount information.)

We withdrew our offer on the other house, and put an offer on this one immediately. It was fall of 2010, and that’s where the story starts. … It’s been the gift that keeps on giving. But only if we keep giving back.

Here’s to the adventure that is pretending to be a farmer … may it keep growing.

~Melissa