A Farmer’s Wife on a Date
You know you’re a farmer’s wife when you go on a date to an actual restaurant that serves you food that you neither cooked nor grew and you talk about chicken poop.
And you’re OK with that.
That’s what Tom and I did the other day. I needed a break. A place where people talked and lived and worked without dirt.
So my husband took me to the local Thai restaurant.
After our appetizer, I quieted. My mind drifted back to our farm and our chickens and dogs and kittens and crops.
It’s not that I don’t love all those things. Sometimes, I just need a break.
During the Golden Noodles (Thai spicy), we talked about chicken poop. How to improve our coop, make it cleaner – our birds healthier.
Because we’re cultivating our dream. Watching it appear before our eyes. We’re building it together
When we first talked about farming, we both agreed that retirement was over rated. Like the two old guys in “Secondhand Lions,” we want to die with our boots on. We’ve told our children to till us into the ground – and we mean it.
Because we love what we are doing. We see how the Lord is blessing us and every morning it makes us smile. Makes us want to get out of bed.
After our dinner, we went to my new mall: Tractor Supply for chicken food, Lowe’s Home Improvement, and “The Walmart.”
We blew our restaurant budget for the month, so I guess I’ll be cooking. And maybe I won’t have my next meltdown until next month. We can’t afford it.
But we’re rich.
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