Future farmers? Probably not.

Farmers must sleep really well.

Three curious horses peek at me.

Todd and I have been staying at a farm in rural Virginia for the past week.  It's beautiful and peaceful enough to make us fantasize about settling down on our own little farm after we return from globe trotting.

The family that runs this farm are always doing something; on a farm, there is always something to be done.






The animals, of course, come first.  By the time I wake up, someone has already been out to the barn and tended to the horses; moved them into pastures for the day; filled water troughs.  Now feed and water the dogs and peacocks.  Account for the cats.  The geese pretty much take care of themselves, but if they venture too far away, you've got to find them and call them back to the safety of home.

Then, just like at your lawn in town, grass needs mowing and weeds need whacking.  Only there's much more of it out here.  It seems every homestead has a big ol' John Deere and a king-size riding lawn mower, and they get used every day.  It took our farmer many hours over three days (after returning from his 9-5 job) to cut the grass surrounding the farmhouse (not the pastures, though).

With miles of fence, there's likely to be a line or a post or two out of place or a kink in an electric wire, so someone has to check the entire fence line frequently, then haul the materials and make the necessary repairs on location.

Dead branches and trees need to be cut down, the wood chopped and hauled and stacked in preparation for winter.  Brush cleared.  Grain and hay and medicine and supplies must be inventoried, ordered, and divvied out.  Riding lessons scheduled and given.  Horses groomed.  Vehicles and equipment maintained.  Not to mention the normal household chores: grocery shopping, cooking, laundry, cleaning the bathrooms, paying the bills.  (Oh, and on this farm, maintaining and advertising and scheduling visitors to the guest house.)

Traffic

Exercise a horse or two, then spray off the sweat and mayflies.

In the evening, before the sun dips below the horizon, move the horses back to their stables, feed them all, top off the water troughs.  Give each horse a good once-over, treat any cuts, pull any tics.  Make sure the geese are nearby and the dogs are in for the night.

The lights in the house go out pretty early.

The farm at Travelers Rest is pristine, and that's because every day someone is doing all of these things, and more.  It's a different way of life than the one I know; one that reminds me how inherently lazy I really am.  I have huge respect for people who farm.

Even though I might daydream of country living, my love of lounging, watching Netflix late into the night, and sleeping in well past daybreak strongly suggests that, no, I'm not likely to become a farmer anytime soon.

I'm going back to the hammock now.