So you grew out of toddlers. Now what?
Congratulations, you no longer have toddlers. They grow, as tikes are wont to do, and the spawn can successfully feed, clothe and bathe themselves successfully. If you’re real lucky, they’ve already aged to the point where they just pop in to say hello and roll their eyes at you. Bless.
Just imagine. You are now financially free from providing nourishment for x amount of toddlers which is good because you blew it all on feed bags because ta-daaa! You’re a farmer now.
You’re ready for this life. It’s been waiting for you, the simple, agrarian reality of living off the fat o’ the land and petting bunnies and stuff. And if you’ve ever dealt with a toddler, you should be totally prepared.
The poop tolerance you grew when you had toddlers merely primed you for the shit-rich life you live now. You become nose blind but only as much and you can’t smell it but you know you can’t smell it. A third party nose is required but you don’t really want that experience so you are at home forever now. You don’t need human friends anymore (this is a lie). You have all the companimals your little wallet can handle.
On the plus side, you have eggs. You also have chicken mites and fleas and the occasional sheep squirts. There are ways to get rid of these things at the feed store. It’s a good thing you like eggs.
To protect the flock you get a dog or four. Dogs are cleaner than toddlers if your toddlers liked to roll around in mystery piles and never bathe. Your guard dogs will become friends with ravens who steal eggs and lure the dogs away so that Eagles can swoop in and grab your ducks and geese. I am told this is called sharing.
You’ll return to the time of mystery goos and where’s THAT smell coming from?”, and “it cost HOW much?” This flavor of hyper vigilance mixed with anxiety has been on deck for a while and it’s ready when you are. Welcome back.
Sleep was a thing you got in that moment between having toddlers and having a farm. If you plan your farm right, you can have your very own noise machine wheezing and screaming all night long. Here’s a thought: Plan your farmyard wisely. If your farm animals are close enough for you to hear a 3 am sheep fart from your open bedroom window, then you’re about as smart as we are. Condolences.
On the plus side, you can use those names you missed using on your children when you get your first flock of angels. When those all die you will name them collectively based on their batch. We have the Six (short for Six-Headed Monster — a random wad of ducks), the Bogoten (a dime of chicks we got on a buy one, get one deal from the farm store), the ducklings ( I think there are ten, but they move a lot), and the frat house (a gaggle of geese).
Why do we do it? Why did we triple our adorable flock into an angry feathered horde? As my pal Kristin says, “it’s entertainment.”
Sure, we could go get pedicures if we wanted to but those haggled toots require hours of getting salon ready. You could scrape off those calluses on your own, but you’re no spring chicken — those died this year, along with your will and desire for public sandal wearing.
Besides, having entertainment is overrated, and having a farm saves you the trouble of so much. You don’t have to worry about which remote goes to which television device because you’re outside looking at the hydra of irrigation water systems all night long, wondering which spigot goes to which hose.
Just think, we could squander our money on fancy meals or concerts or exotic vacations or lamé jumpsuits, but once you get accustomed to loving little mostly-helpless smelly things that cost a lot of money and whine, having a farm is not so bad. It’s not frilly, but there are little pockets of wonder everywhere, and I guess that’s all we’re really here for.
