This past December we took a trip to Texas, to visit my husband’s father and his family. His father’s father, Grandpa Howard, was visiting from New York. We decided to take a photo of four generations of Wander boys.
It got me thinking: how many people have the privilege of growing up around past generations of their families? Back in the day when it was common to live in multi-generational homes, I don’t think this photo would have meant as much to me as it does now. But we only see most of our family once or twice a year.
The way Sam and his Great-Grandpa Howard are looking at each other…I just melt
The title of the post really speaks for itself. It almost didn’t happen. Six days before closing we discovered (through no fault of our own) we were going to have to pay cash for the property or the seller was going to walk. And so, after many sleepless nights (and almost an entire bottle of Belvedere vodka), we managed to come up with money to make it happen.
And now we own a 109 year old farm in Western Washington. We are broke. We don’t have a penny to our name. We might have to sell our first born. But we own a farm.
It has apples. It has pears. It has pastures. It has woods. It has a barn.
It has a new septic system. (This might not seem like a big deal, but anyone who has purchased or owned undeveloped land knows that a new septic system is an amazing and beautiful thing.)
That’s our barn. Isn’t it gorgeous?
On Sunday, we’ll drive up to the property and do what any new landowners would do: run around like crazy, taking pictures and carving our name into every tree, stump and fence post we can find.
And maybe have a nice picnic lunch.