My house sits on two acres; there’s lawn, woods, vegetable garden, one peach tree, some raspberry and blueberry bushes, two chicken coops, and this beautiful water feature. The centerpiece of which is that 17-ton rock, a wonderful hunk of granite that we got when we dynamited out the foundation for our house. The rock has a blasting hole straight through it, and that is where the water flows. In the summer, there are frogs and dragonflies, fish and (yuck) leeches, and so we call it a pond, and our little corner of the world, “Little Pond Farm” – the name being false advertising as we aren’t really a farm.
Anyway, what do you call a place that has two acres, in a town that’s not suburbs and not rural? Are we in the exurbs? And what is a place that has chickens and produces some food but isn’t a working farm?
A dear friend and neighbor, who has lived in this town for 60+ years, and has raised ponies and golden retrievers, calls her place a “farm.” But she has more right to that title – not only does she own forty acres, but broodmares and foals make for a real farm, don’t they? Years ago, she also kept chickens. In 1942, she did what I do now, sold eggs to her neighbors. Back then, she got 35¢ a dozen, which in today’s dollars is $4.45, more than I get today!
Well, whatever you want to call this little slice of land, I’m happy to be here.