Tom hummed the well-known tune with made up words as he worked:
“Me and you and a dog named Sam, farmin’ and living off the land.
Me and you and a dog named Sam, how I love bein’ a free man.”
Our 30-year boat business sold. Both of us are currently unemployed. But we’re working like dogs. (Although I don’t know any dogs that work.) A few days from now, we’re putting our house up for sale. The money we make is all we have to build a small house and a big dream. So we’re painting and polishing—puttying and planting. The list is endless.
Twelve-hour days are preparing me for farm work I think. I’ve noticed stubborn dirt under my fingernails. I’ve used a file. Washed my hands. I think it’s permanent. Like wrinkles.
I’ve also discovered a few other facts. I’m a wimp, I’m spoiled, and I’m naïve.
But, I’m preparing.
Just like there's no crying in baseball, there's no whining in farming.
Hold me accountable, friend.
I'm looking forward to a simpler life. Not easier. But slower.
See you on the farm.
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