Married people say to singles “so when are you setting the wedding date?” Parents say to newlyweds “so when do you plan to have kids?” And newcomers to the boonies tell their buds back in the city “you should move to the country.” It’s a “join the club” kind of thing. “Feel our pain” and “experience our madness”. Nobody likes to suffer alone.
Elsewhere on this web site are my Fear & Loathing tales of transitioning from sailboat to my new home: a beach house built up on stilts in a cow pasture in rural South Carolina.
There’s my ongoing contest with cow #316 escaping its pasture to sample my musa basjoo banana trees (from the mountains of Japan).
There’s the copperhead snake that took up residence in my Miata.
There’s the deer that cleaned out my all my peach trees in one single night.
There’s heavy machinery accidents in the vineyard due to operator error.
There’s the bats in the attic and, this year, carpenter bees. My countermeasure: a badminton racquet.
There’s the trail of parts—like bread crumbs—left behind by the Pineapple Hill “farm Jeep”. Oddly, none of what falls off seems to be missed, so there’s that feeling of another shoe waiting to drop.
I’ve never experienced as much chaos as what happens out in the boonies. Stuff happens all the time. Way more than I remember other places I’ve lived. And there have been many.
The learning curve is fascinating, common sense stuff. For instance, instead of locating of the sheep pasture based on how cool it will look from the road or from the porch, place it near water. And preferably, natural flowing water such as a creek versus water requiring an electric pump to get it up from the ground and then across a field up a hill.Who’d a thunk it? Not me, DUH, a newcomer to the Green Acres way of life
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— Tim Bryant
Author of Blue Rubber Pool
Surf Director at Pineapple Hill