FARMHOUSE IS ME

As long as I can remember I’ve wanted to live in a Farmhouse. I always told my Great Aunts and my Grams that I was going to marry a man who loved animals and live on a farm with lots of them. (Lots of animals, not men, just so we’re clear.) Their response?? “It’s just as easy to love a rich man as it is a poor one.” Wha??? What did that mean? I figured it out years later. Many of my ancestors were dirt poor farmers, including my Great Grandfather. Their lives were hard, and they didn’t have the advantages of modern day equipment, or even electricity. (OK, that was a big fat lie, they had a lamp.) One set of Grandparents used a team of mules to til the land. Not the kind of farm I wanted to live on as it turns out. My Great Aunts and my Grams grew up in poverty and that’s why they pooh poohed (yes, I said pooh poohed) the idea of living on a farm. They couldn’t get off the farm fast enough. Fast forward to today and I still long for a farmhouse. A large, white two story house, surrounded by rolling hills with a large pond…or small lake…or even a creek. And it must have a wooded area as well. And deer. I want deer in my backyard. I know, I know. They eat lots of plants. So I’ll just plant stuff they don’t like. The house will be large because it will have to house all my rescued dogs and cats. I’ll have a couple of barns to keep rescued horses and goats in, and maybe some burros or donkeys. And some chickens. For eggs. Who doesn’t love fresh eggs??

OK, clearly this is a daydream. Do I live in a farmhouse?? NOOOO. Because as you know, I live in the Suburbs, hence the name, My Suburban Sanctuary. I mean, if I actually lived in a Farmhouse it would be called something else. Like Brown Dog Farm. Or Crazy Woman Farm. Or Farm on the Hill. I don’t know….something awesome and meaningful. So that leaves out Farm on the Hill. The only hills in my part of Florida are the speed bumps in the parking lot of Winn Dixie. So ixnay on the farm. But I still love farmhouses or the idea of them and I want my suburban home to look like one. Which would be a good trick if I could pull it off. I live in a Deed Restricted Community, which means all exterior creativity is left at the gate on the way in.  But I can do Farmhouse Style on the inside. Yep! And that’s what I aspire to. With some conditions. Because Mr B and I take different paths when it comes to design. And he lives in the house too. With me. So there’s that. Sigh………….So not only do I not live in a farmhouse,  I live with a man I adore who doesn’t give two hoots…..or even one hoot about farmhouse style. In fact, he is totally hootless. This clearly causes a hitch in my git-along. But I digress.

I am determined to bring as much farmy goodness into my home as he will tolerate. So we’re in the process of adding what I call character, and what he calls…..never mind what he calls it, (This is a G rated blog after all) to every room in the house. One room, one project at a time. Meanwhile, I ignore the noises emanating from my beloved and peruse magazines and blogs and Pinterest, lookin for ideas. Like I don’t have any. Ideas, that is. My best friend swears that one day my head will explode from all the ideas I have crammed in there. And she doesn’t want to be around for the explosion for fear of getting impaled by rusty stuff or covered in chippy paint. It could be ugly she says. Whatever.

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