2 Years That Feel Like 20

Dear Farm, 

Today, we have lived here 2 years. Last weekend when we were selling Christmas Trees from a weird corner of you that used to be overgrown with an old fence, some man asked Matt how long we've 'had the place?'

Matt and I couldn't believe 2 years. It had to be 3 right? There is no possible way that in 2 years we could have done this much, or learned this much or swore this often? 

But it's 2. Confirmed. I even called the insurance agent to ask. I also paid the insurance bill while I had her on the phone. #adultthings

2 years ago we moved here on a mild day in December. Since that day we have... (pour yourself a glass of water) ((maybe wine)) ripped out all the carpet, laid a new floor, stripped the floral wallpaper, painted nearly every room, filled countless dumpsters, uncovered a lot of fences, ripped out a lot of fences, cleared out a room in the barn, cleared out the garage, taken out a lot of trees, pruned every tree that remained, put in a driveway, put in a parking pad, planted 3,000 lavender plants, gotten a real farm sign, put in a flower garden, bought a tiny house, bought a tractor, revived an old riding mower, prayed the mower would keep working, prayed harder, mowed for countless hours, weedwacked countless hours, so much mulch, jesus christ so much landscaping fabric, put in a path behind the garage, planted a row of hydrangea and planted 5 peony shrubs. 

But Farm, sweet Farm, do you know the best part? People really LOVE coming here. Like, a lot. It's crazy how many people have visited you and basked in your natural incredible beauty and that weird 'feeling' everyone has when they are here. 

We've had; countless dinner parties, 8 editions of The Gather Series, 9 sold out workshops, one big Christmas party, one amazingly perfect wedding, one giant planting party, 2 bridal luncheons, countless private events, 3 networking events, and hundreds of people stop to see the lavender when its blooming. 

We've also had so much help. SO MUCH. Way too many names to mention here. But you wouldn't believe how many people come here, and put on work gloves and do really shit ass jobs because deep down they care about you. Well, they care about us. And they see how much we love you. So they do gnarly jobs like put in fences and rip out fences and plant and prune and all the outside work you can imagine. 

We named you Sweetwater because of the freshest most perfect water on the planet that we are sandwiched in between right here on this tiny little 10 acre parcel. Walloon in one direction and Lake Michigan in the other. 

One really good thing about this birthday you have is that it nears the time each year when we get to do nothing for a little bit. I always say that not being able to see what was awaiting us (due to winter) that first year is the only reason we stayed. I remember the first Spring weekend just crying for hours and telling Matt I wanted to tear down the barn and give those guys the wood and they said they would give us money and maybe it'll help. 

But no. We just keep chipping away at you. Slowly. Dear god its so slow some days. But then on others I look at this place and can't believe what we've done. The days are long but the years are short or whatever inspirational quote you want to think of. 

You see, there are really bad moments. Garage door incident. The day of 40 MPH non stop wind when the landscaping fabric ripped OFF the lavender and was blowing around like a freaking 100 foot long magic carpet. The giant wreath situation each year when we hang it. The day the tractor caught on the bistro lights and bad things happened. The afternoon Matt and I were pretty much convinced every single lavender plant had died. The back injury. The furnace that sounded like a dinosaur waking up. The snake I found in the basement. (taken care of people, please do come visit still) The window with moss actually growing in one of the cracks. The pond we still need to rip out. The squirrel living in the bunkhouse. 

But for every single moment I want to quit. For every single moment I say to Matt, "sorry we left the tiny corner lot with the redone kitchen" for every moment that I regret signing that stack of paperwork, there is countless moments it doesn't get any better. 

When the lavender is in full bloom on a breezy day. When the entire farm has been mowed and its golden hour. When the apple orchard blooms. When the lights are on and the table is in the field and theres nothing to do but drink more wine and let the candles burn. When the snow is so perfect the cedar branches touch the ground. When I'm walking Maple on the path and look back from the top of that little hill and can see the entire farm. When Egan's wedding seemed like a dream. When we sit with our best friends at the rose table and stacks and stacks of lavender bundles are surrounded by wine glasses. When I open the door to let the dog in and can see people who I don't even know standing in the lavender taking photos. When we found the secret morel spot and picked hundreds of the biggest morels you've ever seen. When our dining room table has no more empty seats. When the sun is just coming up over that ridgeline and I'm watering the garden. When its too cold to do anything but sit under a blankie in the bright living room and watch a movie and the house creaks with the wind. When we are around the bonfire pit. When the new furnace kicks on and its quiet and works. When the lilacs bloom. When we are walking outside with Maple and the only sound is apples falling to the ground. When we snowshoe back in the pines. When the barn is overflowing with people and Christmas music is blaring. When the giant wreath is lit and people honk. When you can see the water (just barely) from the guest room in the winter. When the 2nd floor shower magically gets hot again without the plumber coming. When the house has the freaking perfect Christmas Tree spot. When the mailman knows your name. When I see people stopped in an old outhouse we found and painted white to buy flowers. When its just us here and its golden hour in August and it smells like lavender and the weather is damn perfect and its glowing here and I say to Matt, "hey, we did it."

Farm, you have kicked my ass. You will continue to do so. But we love you. We really really do. 

Cheers to 2 years calling you home, there is no place I'd rather be. Pinky swear.