Monthly Archives: February 2015
I would like to talk about our future plans, though I am not sure I should. I firmly believe that dreaming is just another form of doing; of manifesting. And I have never been one to keep things quiet. We have no idea when we will be moving to our new home. It could be a year or more. It could be this Spring. It’s all very much up in the air. There are days I think we are crazy to think we will have the time and patience to homeschool and parent three kids, renovate an old house in need of a great deal of love, learn the art of farming by farming alongside my dad and step mom, while also figuring out how to make any sort of income with our own farm. On top of that, Mike will continue to work at his current job and commute a crazy distance each day. “Potential” can be a dangerous word. But, we’ve never been ones to shy away from a challenge or an adventure. Life is more interesting when you colour outside the lines and take big leaps of faith. Let me go back to the summer of 2005 for a moment. That summer, Mike and I were living in Mississauga and a drive to the farm was a very long one, but we went out for a visit to celebrate Father’s Day and my birthday. We worked all day planting raspberries and strawberries in bare feet with the hot sun upon our shoulders. We cooled ourselves in buckets of icy water from the hand pump in the front yard and ate a late supper as we always did when I spent summers on the farm as a kid. I wasn’t crazy about the farm when I was a kid, but something had shifted during this visit. The next morning, we were invited to church which sits on a small parcel of land originally carved out of Dad and Janet’s farm. Dad introduced us to a nice man with a round belly and a twinkle in his eye. He shook our hands firmly and said “Welcome to The Ridge” . I suppose it was then that our fates were sealed, even if we didn’t yet know it. It was 8 years later, very nearly to the day, that we found ourselves walking the fence line of the potato field and across The Ridge Road into the mouth of an overgrown lane way lined with large maples. We were there to see a man about a house. An old house built in the late 1800’s with good bones, two walnut trees, three large fields, a meadow, a small apple orchard, a new plantation of red pine, and a beautiful view. We think we might call it Sons & Daughters Farm. Traditionally, farms are named to honour the family name and usually the sons. For example: “March & Sons”, but we have hyphenated names and daughters too. “Ellenberger-March & Sons & Daughters” is a bit of a clumsy mouthful and we both stubbornly refuse to take each other’s names. Besides, we’re sons and daughters and we have a son and daughters. We’re working towards something sustainable for all the sons and daughters; our own and the ones yet to be. We are also honouring the memory of the teachers and the farmers; the whiskey makers and the blacksmiths; the artists and the entrepreneurs; the mothers and the fathers; the sons and the daughters who beat down this path before us.