By Pam (Gates) Johnson
Sometimes, living in an apartment doesn’t seem like a bad idea. Let me give you a little backstory.
I’ve been living on my little farm since 1975. It has a house (duh), a barn, an orchard, a garden, a big lawn, and fenced pastures. My life-long dream was to live on a farm, and I got it. It was a perfect place to raise my kids in a rural setting. No close neighbors. Dead-end road. Access to acres of woods and canyons. Room to raise cattle and let the kids have horses. We also had dogs, goats, and a pony named Debbie.
My at-the-time-husband and I had a hay-baling business in the summers. We put up hundreds of bales of Island hay every year. At about five years old, my son was rolling hay bales out of the way of the baler. At 12, my daughter was driving a one-ton flat-bed truck loaded with hay down Beall Road. It was my dream life.
But most dreams come to an end, as did mine. Husband left, hay equipment sold, kids grew up and moved out, which left me here to hold down the fort. In order to keep the farm and pay the bills, I had to work a full-time job. That didn’t leave much time to keep up, much less work, my little farm.
Moonbeam, our milk cow, had died of old age. When the kids left, the horses left. I really didn’t need to raise and slaughter steers, as it was just me here. So, the farm life part wound down, but the property upkeep remained.
For a few years after the kids moved out, I did okay on the property upkeep. I got a John Deere riding mower and managed to keep the grass down. Found a guy to prune my trees for a reasonable cost. Even talked a friend into going halfsies on raising a couple of cows. But the fences started to go bad, and the cows got out. Hay and grain got pretty expensive. Did I really need half a cow in my freezer? Winding down gradually, but still winding down.
Life went on. I got older, retired, and noticed my activity level and stamina were on the downslide. That’s when I realized I couldn’t do all the things I used to take for granted.
I also learned that, when things started to go south on the house, I was the one who had to take care of it. At my age, taking care of house stuff means finding someone to do it for money. My daughter got married, had a kid and moved to Onalaska (which is not in Alaska). My son got married, had a kid and built a very successful business. My nephew and his wife moved onto the property, but both had full-time jobs and busy lives. That left me.
Retirement cash flow was pretty good. I had enough to put a new roof on the house. Then, all the 1952 windows needed to be replaced. The original-install oil furnace finally died, so there was a heat pump that needed to be installed. The bathroom really needed to be upgraded. All of those things got taken care of, which left the next list: things that need to be done, but suddenly got prohibitively expensive.
I found good workers to help with the lawn-mowing and weed-eating. Bill and his protégé kept my fruit trees pruned and looking beautiful. My nephew took my garbage to the dump. Herb mowed my fields every year. The place looked like someone who took reasonable care of the property lived here. But …
The deck needs new boards. Do I replace them with cedar or Timber Tech or Trex? The barn is starting to tilt. Do I try to find someone to repair it? Is it too far gone for repairs? Do I replace it with a pole building or just let it collapse? Do I really need a barn?
The fences need repair. Do I need fences if I’m not planning on raising livestock? If I repair the fences and get a calf, will it be safe from the coyotes?
The kitchen is really dated. Should I bite the bullet and get new cabinets, new counter-tops, new appliances? Does the cost outweigh the amount of time I will be around to use it? Should the house get painted again? The last company that painted it did a horrible job.
All that brings me to the next quandary. If I choose to go ahead with some of the big projects, who in the heck will do them? Have you tried to find a contractor lately? I have. After reaching out to several companies about replacing my deck boards, many either never returned a call, or they came out and looked at the job, never to be heard from again.
I finally found a guy who said he could put me on his list, but the work would be about two years out! In total frustration, I said, “Put me on the list!”
Now, as I sit in my front room, looking out my window at the beautiful yard and pastures I have loved for years, I wonder how long I can keep this up.
This has been my home for 50 years. The trees I planted have grown so tall, Asplundh has to trim them away from the power lines. The flowers are in bloom. The grass is green. The birds are chirping and the woodpeckers are pecking on my metal mailbox. The Shinglemill hikers are trudging up and down my street with their dogs. The neighbor has cameras and floodlights everywhere. The apple shed next door has gone from apples, to a winery, and now a coffee roasterie. The local coyote pack has regular meetings, very loud meetings, in my front yard. Things, they are a changin’.
All this circles back to the start of this piece. “Tell me yes or tell me no. Do I stay or do I go?” Am I ready to give up on my life in the country and trade it for a life of ease in an apartment?
What would I do with my time? Where would I move to? Westport or the Oregon Coast are on the top of my list, but both are awfully far away from my grandkids. And …
Just the thought of going through 50 years of stuff in the house, basement, and barn gives me a bad case of the hoobo-jeebies. Guess I will stay where I am for now.
