or How I Gave Up Retirement for Hay, Hens, and a Whole Lot of Fence Fixing
We became snowbirds. Not the kind that nest in RV parks with satellite dishes the size of dinner tables. We zigzagged through the southern states (excluding Florida—because even in winter, it feels like soup in your shoes). We swapped barn boots for sandals and mud for sand. And for a while, it was great.
But then… things changed - again.
We sold the trailer, settled back into home life, and something strange started happening. I missed it.
Not the trailer. Not the questionable campground bathrooms. But the work. The real, gritty, unglamorous kind of work that makes your muscles sore and your back say things your mouth shouldn’t repeat.
Turns out, daily walks and beach chairs don’t keep you strong. Who knew? So I did the only reasonable thing: I got a dozen chickens, a few sheep, and started reacquainting myself with the joy of hay splinters, grain bags that laugh in the face of gravity, and fencing that mysteriously breaks only when it’s raining sideways.
And you know what? I love it.
This blog is my way of getting back to the roots—sometimes literally, when I trip in the pasture. I’ll be sharing the ridiculous, heartwarming, occasionally muddy realities of life on a (very) small farm. Expect animal shenanigans, fence-related swearing (edited from what my brain may be thinking), and the occasional life lesson courtesy of a hen with no sense of personal space.
Thanks for stopping by. Kick off your boots—or leave them on if you’re chasing chickens. Either way, grab a cup of coffee or hot chocolate. It’s going to be a good ride.
P.S. – Before I came crawling back to the barn, I wrote a travel blog during our RV days. If you want to see how we fumbled our way across the country (and how many times I said, “Did you lock the trailer?”), check out crosscountrycruzin.blogspot.com. It’s got sunsets, scenic views, and at least one emergency involving a black tank.
