We Bought the Farm

It’s so much more than we thought we would find.

It’s so much more than we thought we would ever get.

We were looking for ten acres. Something manageable. Something modest. But the land had other plans. We ended up with twenty-six — twenty-six wild, wonderful, untamed acres that stretch farther than my imagination can quite hold. It will be months before I even see most of it. That’s the kind of big we’re talking about. It’s just… insane.

We’re hoping to close before Thanksgiving. If not, then the week after. Either way, it’s happening. The papers are signed, the wheels are turning, and the dream that lived in our hearts for years is suddenly, startlingly real.

After we heard our offer was accepted, we couldn’t help ourselves. We trespassed — lovingly — onto what would soon be ours, popped a bottle of Prosecco, and had a little picnic right there on the land. It was one of those moments you want to press between the pages of your life like a wildflower.

We sat in the grass, glasses in hand, taking it all in. We walked the property again, this time with new eyes — imagining where we’d site the house, plant the garden, maybe even tuck a treehouse into the arms of an old oak. It was magic.

And I’ll be honest — today, it feels like it all happened very quickly. There’s a flutter of buyer’s remorse in my chest, not because I doubt the dream, but because I can already feel the weight of what’s ahead. The work. The waiting. The sheer scale of what it will take to bring this land to life — to clear the brush, run the utilities, build the house, plant the fields. It’s a lot. It’s overwhelming.

But it’s also everything we’ve talked about. Everything we’ve planned for. And now, it’s here.

I haven’t shared much about the dreams and the plans just yet — not fully. Not out loud. But I will. Because this is the beginning. The messy, magical middle where the dream is still unfolding, and the land is calling us home.

Rob spent the day on the phone, tracking down essential services. Water. Power. Trash. All the invisible threads that will tether us to this place and make it livable. We’re hoping to get out of RV parks and onto the land before the end of the year. And when we do — when the wheels of our little home roll onto that sandy soil — we’ll start planting roots.

Literally and figuratively.

Because this isn’t just a move. It’s a becoming. A return. A beginning.

Next Up: A Little South, A Little Stillness

We’re on the move again.

Just a little farther south this time — back to our favorite lake, the one that always seems to hold us in a kind of quiet grace. It’s our last week before heading back to Austin for Thanksgiving, and we’re letting ourselves settle into the stillness.

After the rush of buying the farm, the calls to utility companies, the Prosecco-popping picnic on the land, and the swirl of emotions that followed — this weekend feels like a balm. A breath. A moment to remember why we’re doing all of this.

The dogs are already in heaven. Daisy has claimed her usual sun-drenched spot by the water, and Luna is chasing shadows and splashing like it’s her job. Rob’s got his fishing pole out. I’ve got my notebook open. And for now, that’s enough.

We’ll be back on the land soon. Back to planning and planting and building. But this weekend, we’re letting the lake remind us how to be still. How to listen. How to rest before the next chapter begins.