Some day … When I grow old, I’m going to build my dream cottage— and sit out in the summer evenings, rocking on my big ole’ southern wrap-around porch, sippin’ ice tea with mint fresh from my garden. I’ll watch my grandkids running barefoot, catching fireflies in jars. Then we’ll build a big bonfire and roast hot dogs, make s’mores, tell ghost stories and marvel at how many stars are in the country sky. Then they’ll come in and sleep all over the family room floor in sleeping bags—or camp outside as the fire crackles and smolders.When I grow old, I’m going to drive my dream car—a (restored) black 1954 Chevy pickup (or '41 Ford pickup), when I’m not on the tractor. I’ll wear jean overalls with my stylish black rubber boots from the farm store (with hand-painted flowers on them, of course). Every morning, I’ll go out to feed and milk the Nubian goats (for homemade cheese and soap). I’ll talk to the chickens I’ve named, as I let them out to free range on my 5 acres. On weekends, I’ll sell my homegrown goods at farmers markets or attend art shows to sell my jewelry, bags, aprons and clothes. (Hippie chick-style.)
I’ll host weddings on my farm for young couples nostalgic for a simpler, quieter time. They can marry in the gazebo, and enjoy a reception under a big white tent lit by thousands of tiny lights and candles. The blue grass band will play a quiet waltz as the night comes to a close. I’ll offer invitations designed on recycled papers, photography, and even a honeymoon stay in a little cottage on the property--for those rare few who want to start their new life together in simplicity.
When I grow old, I’ll be more at peace with being myself—no longer feeling it necessary to try and be everything that everyone else expects or needs. Someday...
