We moved. Again.
And I decided to start blogging... again. This new life we've taken on is a ride and I thought I'd document it, if for no one but myself.
Our plans to renovate an 1857 farmhouse sounded like a good idea. Follow along to see what happens. I'm interested to know as well.
We didn't have real plans of moving. We were tucked away in the Appalachians on our own little piece of paradise. I had my brand new tiny little horse barn. The dogs played in the fields. We had a glorious wrap-around porch. No neighbors. Stunning views.
When we moved to this part of the state, C worked 30 minutes north and I worked 30 minutes south of the house. It was a perfect equidistance location.
Of course, things change. C opened up shop near my employer so we were both commuting 30 minutes in the same direction.
Additionally, we only owned three acres. Though we were surrounded by 60 acres of hay fields and woods and had no neighbors in sight, the fact remained that we only owned three of those acres. That's not much room for horses.
So, I started looking. Casually.
I stumbled upon the farm online.
It looked #dreamy, rough, but I could see the potential. It was out of the price range we never knew we made. I looked often and dreamed about what I would do with that place.
Months went by. We inquired about purchasing more of the land surrounding our current property.
No go. Plus their 80 million grandchildren had plans to build right behind us.
C joined in on the casual looking at this point. We toured an unattractive farmette on a cliff.
It had a horse barn but no thank you.
Then. Price drop on The Farm. I pleaded with C to go tour it. "Fine," we can just look.
"Now THIS is what I'm talking about!" My first words upon setting foot on the farm.
This was the realty cover photo. It fails to show the wild paint choices, the acres and acres of 5 foot tall weeds, the massive amounts of junk left behind, the 2+ years of neglect, and the overpowering smell of the guest house.
Yes, a guest house. Normally awesome but not in this case...until we become dependant on it (that's another post).
It was not all pretty but the set up and potential was enamoring.
After more time had passed and less money was asked, we decided to look again. This time with my parents. I was hooked. C came along later.
We jumped in with both feet.
And here we are, at Long Lane Farm.