Bee Tree Farm

It’s amazing how one’s standards change as their options change, or expand, or shrink. For example, I’m much more likely to think $65 for a haircut is reasonable if I have an actual salary and full time job. Seeing that I’m just a student, unsure of who may or may not employ me in the next few months, my mom’s free haircuts on a stool in the kitchen sure are fantastic. Of course, she doesn’t douse my scalp in peppermint oil and bring me a glass of wine, but that stuff’s overrated. Sniff.

My point is this, you can’t always get what you want, or at least the exact version of what you think is acceptable. Still don’t get my point? I do have one. I’m ready to move to the land. As in: willing-to-live-in-a-tent-wash-my-hair-in-the-animal’s-trough-hunt-and-gather, kind of ready. It is this sort of desperation that led me to a weekend spent ogling a dilapidated mobile home. Now, mind you, I have absolutely nothing against mobile homes. In fact, these suckers can be incredibly comfortable and luxurious and serve as great homes. This was not the sort I was ogling. My craigslist addiction led me to a ridiculous deal, just ridiculous enough to consider, and one that might have meant moving to the land soon while bypassing the tent route. Before visiting the home, Jeremy suggested that it might be “too good to be true,” a warning I shrugged off because at that point, I was happy to live in anything with a roof and indoor plumbing if it meant living on the land. We spent the morning examining the home in its entirety; the rotting wood floors, moldy tile, cabinet doors that hung precariously on rusted hinges. And the toilet. Oh my, the toilet had seen better days. Jeremy’s ominous silence during inspection made me fear the worst – that he would not agree it was a fantastic deal. I mean, I made it through 4 years of decaying college housing. I could make it through this. I babbled about the wonders of fresh paint and bleach and the ability to hold my nose until Jer essentially asked me to get a grip and take a good hard look around me. Needless to say, we came home empty handed, unsure of when we’ll move but certain that some of our standards remain intact:

-Floor must be relatively solid, i.e., probably you don’t want to see the ground below.
-Toilets must, er, flush.
-Most importantly, home should probably have complete walls devoid of huge, gaping, open holes to the outside.

After agreeing to these standards, Jer patted my head and offered his appreciation for the lengths I would go to get us out there. I, for one, am relieved we didn’t buy the severely damaged trailer. And I’m back to researching tents.