It’s true. I always thought I wanted to be an Alaskan bush homesteader, but turns out, I wanna be a farmer. This realization has been sinking in for a few years now.
My Man and I joke about it, I’ve even considered a blog called The Farmer and The Lawyer. Because, in the family/culture I grew up in, lawyers were the absolute bottom of the barrel. Worse maybe than politicians. Scum of the earth, and all that. Never, never in a million years would I have believed I would marry one! And of course, the lawyering surfaced after the marrying.
My Man, for his part, grew into a similar feeling about farmers, though certainly not as vehement. He is of the Earth First! wilderness lover variety. For those of you unawares, the unspoken ideology includes the basic belief that everything humans do is kind of fucked. Farming is slavery, and requires oppression of the Earth and her (previously) wild creatures.
He did not knowingly marry a farmer either. I was a woods living, hunting fishing gathering girl when we met. He was a woods living, tipi building, candle light EIS (Environmental Impact Survey) reader. Both of us ought to have seen the signs. But love includes blinders.
So here we are. He in law school, and me ravenous for the archives of my latest blog crush, Farmama, and making lists of ways to further farmify our home place in Cordova when we return.
My Man was lamenting last night how little time we have to spend together lately. I thought for a moment, then said, “Well, we have at least 30 more years to spend together…” And it’s a quiet excitement. All those years rolled out before us. I think I’m over the hump of the 30’s where you think it’s all almost over, and into the realization that there’s so much more in store for us. Rather than being pissed that my Tipi Man turned Lawyer Man, I feel a sweet sense of wonder at what other surprises await.
Hopefully there will be something like a farm in there somewhere.