Our Story Begins

Photo: Brian Lanigan

Appeared in Pioneer Press newspapers
April 11, 2010

We first saw the farm three years ago.  I’d found it while leafing through these very pages, and it seemed too good to be true: a landmarked historic home on eight acres with a creek running through; in a place idyllically named Old Mill Creek; plus a collection of outbuildings; at a price which, even then, before the bursting of the bubble, seemed unreasonably reasonable, substantially less than our not-quite-a-third-of-an-acre in the inner ‘burbs.  Seemed too good to be true.  So we decided to take a look.

            Turned out to be entirely true. It reminded Lis of home in Concord, Mass., a town absolutely lousy with history that has preserved its rural openness while turning into a suburb.  Will, our son, loved the smell of the air, and there was a hen house, promising a consummation, at last, of his long-held dream of raising chickens. And, speaking of dreams fulfilled, we could just barely make out the barn of the nearest habitation, over yonder, through the trees and across some sizable fields. At this distance I could be a great neighbor. And Aly and Lucy were away at college, so they couldn’t protest.

            But, alas, it was not to be.

            The timing just wasn’t right.  Will was only a freshman in high school.  And, while he was willing to commute back to Glenview for classes, he still prized his present friends over his future chickens, so wasn’t ready to switch schools.  So, we concluded, “Not this time,” and headed home.

            Now, if I were the kind of guy to believe in fate, I’d have to suggest it was at work, since the property was still for sale two-and-a-half years later when, on a whim, we decided to check and see what had become of it. Surely, we assumed, such a wonderful property would have gone to some lucky buyer by now. 

But there it was, still available – and now at a post-crash-and-a-whole-long-time-on-the-market price.  Will was now a senior.  The stars seemed pretty well aligned.

On the other hand . . .

When we returned to have a look we found that, let’s say, some work was in order, the owners having left even before our first visit.  Everything was now seriously overgrown.  On closer examination, and with fewer stars in our eyes, we noticed that invasive trees – buckthorn and box elder – were everywhere, growing into the barn and the chicken coop; the pig house was not quite collapsing – but not quite not.  The English ivy was growing into the window frames.  And what we thought was a picturesque pheasant on the lawn turned out to be a hawk devouring a kill.  Nature was taking over.

So, here’s the situation:  we’re now middle-aged by any standard, and tuition freedom is coming into sight – perhaps an unlikely time for undertaking the great, big project with infinite work.  At the same time, the place may be the ultimate “handyman’s special,” and I’ve never been mistaken for one of those.  Finally, while I love gardens, in recent years I’ve grown disinclined toward gardening, even my modest messuages in Glenview posing just a bit too much of a hassle.

So, naturally, we bought it.  The plan:

·        Rehab the old house and attach a substantial addition, since, with three bedrooms and one bath the original was not built for a family of our size – or century.

·        Fix up the outbuildings and raise chickens, for sure, with the possibility of turkeys, as well as some sheep and/or goats in the barnyard.  And we’ve got 13 stalls, so there’s gotta be a horse, right?

·        And farm the land.  There are three good-sized fields; we see orchards, pumpkin patch, vegetable garden.

So, if you’re interested in back-to-the-land sagas, or sustainable living, or, more likely, some slapstick along the lines of “Green Acres” meets “The Money Pit,” do follow the ongoing “Tales of Tumbledown Farm.”  The misadventures will run here every other week.  Y’all come back now, hear?