Sunday Evening
I’m sitting in the quiet, spacious living room of a San Diego farm house. I hear the cars pass by on the street. I hear the sound of roosters and crickets. I hear the mysterious noises of a rodent scurrying about. I hate that sound. But that’s what you get, I’m repeatedly told, when you live on a farm.
And guess what? I’ll take it!
With every day that I live in this gracious home of abundant plant and animal life, I become more convinced I don’t want to live anywhere else. Not for now, at least. Home ownership was a means to an end: the doorway to building a chicken coop and digging up the lawn to grow vegetables. But on this property where no grass grows, I have found all that I thought would make me happy. And so far, it does. And until I find the man who will build me a cob house, I’m more than content living here. Rent is affordable, roommates are fascinating, and there are nine chickens, several pullets, and many more chicks less than 100 feet from where I sit.
September 14th, 2009 at 11:13 am
Scurrying rodents are why farms have cats. My mom hates mice. We always have like three cats outside and we almost never get mice in the house, although one of the cats will periodically come show a dead one to my mom. Plus we get kittens every once in a while. I love kittens! Our dog is also an exceptional mouser. Do you have a cat?