I had been looking for a place of landing for some time, perhaps even before I realized it. As time passed, I found myself longing more and more to put my hands in the dirt again. I wanted to garden, raise chickens, spin and weave, and have the freedom to do so in my own little space. Well, my own little space did come, and at the perfect moment, too.
In December 2021, I purchased my first home. It is a small, three-room farmhouse built in 1911 that sits on two acres of land. Along with the house, I gained six peach trees, two pear trees, and numerous Chickasaw plums. Additionally, there are three storage buildings with old tools and hints of the place’s history scattered about. The house was passed through one family before being left empty for twenty-seven years. The town is quiet, with less than 200 residents, and sits within the heart of my beloved state, Alabama. All hustle-and-bustle is 40 minutes to an hour away, which suits my pup and me well.
Because the house had been left empty for some time, a few repairs need to be made. When I first purchased the place, it did not have a water heater and the roof was leaking in several spots. However, since then I have learned the importance of hot water and its value (for mental sanity, if nothing else), and have installed a water heater. My father and I replaced the shingle roof earlier this year, so I no longer have buckets collecting rainwater inside the house. The electrical also needs to be rewired, but for now, I am making do with the three outlets in the house. The house is just enough of a project for me to be able to make it my own, and I am thankful for it. I do not think I would have been happy with a place that did not need work. Something about an easy life feels like the beginning of complacency.