Recently, I have harbored a pipe dream that tends to involve a large vegetable patch, an orchard, beehives, chickens and the postcard good life. I am well aware that this will involve long days, manual labour and will require me to give up my social life.
My fiance, needless to say, is not enthralled by the idea, and would probably be even less enthralled if he realised that, if I come into enough money and he is sufficiently aggravating I may just pack up and move to Ireland, leaving him in the dust. Luckily for him, the chances of that happening are seriously remote.
Still, we did come to an agreement - I give up on the idea of us ever having children and I get my smallholding. I have all sort of plans - selling dried herb sachets on e-bay to supplement the income over winter for a start. Apple orchard + fruit press = apple juice (or scrumpy, potentially). Beehives for honey to sell or make into mead. On a small enough scale I wouldn't need more than an acre or two, and if I happened to land more, well, sheep farming for fleece has it's appeal. And lambs are both cute and tasty. (I find sheep too stupid to form lasting attachments to once they're past the cute and skippy stage).
Of course, it would be tough. The weather in the UK is not exactly brilliant at the moment, the past few years have been rough and I bet farmers are getting themselves further and further into debt as they try to recover. I'm not looking at this career change through rose tinted glasses, at it's fundamental level it involves hauling around large amounts of animal shit.
And yet I want to do it anyway. What does that say about me, I wonder?
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