Tipsy Toad Grove is a small farm in rural Nova Scotia – 4.5 acres, to be exact. I work in the city, Troy works in the Valley. This seemed like a happy place to lay our hats in between the hour long commutes in opposite directions.
Since moving here in 2007 we’ve conquered a jungle of brambles and thorns that overtook the pastures and threatened to devour the house. We’ve found beds of struggling perennials buried in buttercup and dandelion wastelands. We’ve broken ground for a decent-sized veggie garden and fed it horse manure til the ants packed up and marched on. We’ve sent a barn full of garbage to the appropriate resting places and built stalls to house a growing menagerie. Best of all, we’ve become good friends with the people across the street and we’ve learned which neighbours to avoid at all costs. Life on the farm is good.
I dream of freedom 6-49. I buy lotto tickets in the hope of never commuting again. I long for days filled with shoveling poop, pulling weeds and splitting wood for the winter. In the meantime, I go to work and do my time, comforted by the knowledge that I’ll come back home to the Meh! of goats, the swarm of chickens wanting food, and a glass of merlot by the fire, either inside or out.