The Beginnings of a Backyard Farmer

When I was a little girl, I wanted to live on a farm. However, my parents always lived in modest houses with modest yards, so I came to the conclusion the only way to reach this goal was to marry a farmer. Well, that didn't happen either.

Up until a year ago, the closest I actually came to achieving this goal was the few years my parents lived out in the country in a small town. Everyone around us had a farm. The people behind us had goats and chickens, the guy on one side had horses, dogs, and cats, and the people across the street had cows. That might be ideal for some people--all of the perks and none of the work--but not me. I wanted the work that came with it. I wanted it to be mine. But why?

Why would a girl that grew up in the suburbs want a farm? I didn't have any living farmers in my family; I didn't regularly visit anyone I knew that had a farm. Really, I didn't have any connections to the farm life at all. Maybe it started when I inherited a chicken as a kid, or maybe I saw a farm in a movie or book and idolized that way of life. It doesn't really matter how it started, but instead, where it takes me.

I didn't marry a farmer, but I married a man who supports my farm goals. In January, we bought a modest house on modest land, with a lovely fenced in backyard, and that spring, my sweet husband built me a chicken coop and got half a dozen chicks from a local feed store.

With absolutely no knowledge other than what google could provide, we took the first step into becoming farmers, and stumbled, tripped, and barrel-rolled through the innumerable hurdles we encountered in a matter of months. It was a very emotional journey and more difficult than I could have ever predicted it would be, and it's still far from over. In fact, it's hardly begun, because I'm in the farming game for the long-haul. I just hope I make it out with my sanity.

So far, so good.