I am coming to terms with the fact that I am not going to have a homestead, other than the one I create in my own backyard.
Watching people win their hearts desires on game shows, looking at those $$$ on the Powerball billboards. It makes it feel like you can really have it all—by happenstance, with luck, without all the hard work. Daydreams are fun, but I’ll admit that it makes reality a little less golden than it should be given credit for.
I look around my house and think:
This isn’t a grown-up house. I’m tired of these walls, I want new ones.
But the truth is, we are easily 2 years out. And that is a big maybe.
(Seriously, how do people sell houses these days? How can they buy before they sell, or visa-versa? I’ll admit I feel mildly trapped in my house.)
I’d really like to raise pigs. But I can’t.
I can raise ducks and rabbits for meat, I can think about a pair of geese.
I can do what I can with what I have, and be happy for it.
There might be a little less lusting, and a little more real life—when I can get to it.