A while ago, a farmhouse close to my house finally sold after being on the market pretty much the entire time I’d lived in the neighborhood.
I was really excited because I loved this farmhouse. It is situated on 13 acres, has a gorgeous home, and two big barns on it. I really, really wanted someone to love this farm.
For a while, the new owners of the property made some renovations to the home, brought a bunch of horses, steer, and a camel to live on the property as a pony ride-cum-petting zoo type of destination. The owners out adds in the local paper, and the farm seemed to be gaining traction.
The new owners started to put up a massive barn in the back of the field, and that’s when the signs of trouble started. Only the framework went up before the winter snow came, and the project was abandoned. The skeleton sits, sagging terribly since. Then the camel was no longer to be seen in any of the pastures, then the horses followed. Four steer arrived in the largest pasture, and a month later, they, too were gone. The house, though in much better shape than before, still looked like it had a long way to go.
I waited with baited breath, and a tiny spark of hope that the owners would wait until it was warm to try again. That was squashed on Tuesday, when the original, hand-painted sign with a reproduction of the farm home indicating it’s sale went up in the frame that had been built two weeks earlier.
My farm is up for sale again…