Friends,
I am writing to you tonight, and it’s the last night I’ll sleep at my farm. At least for a good long while. Not to worry: I am on to a grand new adventure that includes higher education, expatriation, creative passion, and the pursuit of yet another great, big project. I plan on sharing full details soon, and I’ve already written several posts in an attempt to tie up the lessons of last five years of my life with a tidy little bow.
But tonight I am walking through a house that’s half empty, awaiting the movers in the morning. In the past few days I have felt my spirit draining from this home, a second skin that I designed and built and lived in and loved even before it was realized. It is wrenching to leave this place, where every inch of house and land hold vivid memories and lessons that I can only hope will make me stronger, more empathetic, and more resourceful in the future.
My heart is breaking into a zillion pieces. I am a turtle whose shell is being removed, but it was my own choice to do the removing. After building an entire ten-acre habitat, I am traveling into my new life with nothing but two suitcases.
But I am so damn happy. I am so proud of what I have done here. I am so amazed at the kind of person living here has shown me to be. I am so grateful for everything that I have been given, and all that I’ve learned. I am so thankful for my parents, who made every bit of this possible and who continue to support and love me while selflessly encouraging all my crazy ideas.
Tonight I ventured in the dark to the end of the driveway to stuff one last garbage bag in the can. As I walked back toward my house, which looked so warm and friendly lit from within, I crumbled inside thinking of how I was leaving the place I’ve most loved in my entire life and how a ten-year dream was ending. But then I turned on my heel toward the hayfield in the front yard, and up above me was a vast clear sky full of brilliant stars. The Milky Way galaxy stretched right across the farm like a painter’s pale white stroke, and here and there I could make out faintly blinking lights from airplanes traveling high above.
All the people in those pinpoint flickers are going somewhere else. And so am I.
I’m so happy and excited for you, although reading this post was bittersweet. I’ve been reading your blog for a couple of years and over that time it’s become my favourite internet read. Your lifestyle is inspiring and your writing and photographs bring it to life. I’ll miss your farm too, and I hope that you will keep blogging, whatever you do. I wish you all the luck in the world with your future adventures.
What!? What a shock! I can’t wait to hear more about your new adventure, and I’m happy for you, but also so sad to think about Bonafide not being Bonafide anymore. You’ve been such an inspiration. Thanks for sharing this amazing journey.
Wow, what a surprise!
I can’t wait to hear your next adventure.
Just one burning question in my mind….where is Tucker going?
Dani
I’ll miss your stories of life on the farm, but I’m looking forward to reading about your new adventures!
I wish you luck in this new adventure. Is this the last post of your blog? If so, it saddens me more than you can imagine, but its been a pleasure to keep up with your five year journey at Bonafide Farm. Let me know if you will ever return, and if I should keep checking back for more posts!
Thank you for everything,
Caitlin
Long time lurker finally chiming in.
Wow! What news! I will miss the updates of your beautiful farm, but look forward to whatever adventure you have coming up next. I, too, wonder about Mr Tucker.
I wanted to drop by and say I miss your posts and pictures. Not so much the farm but your voice. I thought I had already posted so either a-you are no longer here or b- I’m going crazy.
I hope life is treating you well. (and Tucker!)