One Step Closer to My Dream: A Ranch

The ranch, that is what we called my Abuelo’s fifteen acres when I was growing up. My Tio None also had a ranch which consisted of 40 acres. Neither of our families are what you consider “wealthy” but perhaps smart about investing. I own my vehicles, both of which are 96 Caprices and we are living in a $75,000  fixer upper. Society judges people based on their acquired wealth but it seems we also judge on what they have, the materialism speaks volumes to people.

Even the way you dress can be off putting to some and that bothers me sometimes. I am a t-shirt kinda gal and people are always surprised when I let them know about my degrees or when they ask me questions.  Surprised and I often wonder why, is it because I am not as stylish as some or is it because I am a SAHM with my two babies.

I grew up very humble. I was always thankful of my life, my opportunities, my family, and for being stingy. Seriously, being stingy has helped in this economy. I never thought I would be back in the country, never dreamt of going back,  until Big E. He had a dream for land, an inkling of a life much slower than the one we are living now.

Yesterday, we went to the outskirts of one of our smaller towns to look at ten acre tracts of land. beautiful, brush and land. Butterflies flitted about, mesquite trees grew in natural surroundings, cacti, and the whole nine. It was eerily quiet. Big E immediately put in an offer and we are waiting to hear back.

It is raw land with no water nor light connections. We will have to build on it eventually but it will be ours (hopefully) and we can create a lifestyle similar to the one I had growing up. This is a vibrant and amazing opportunity and we are seizing the moment.

Pictures coming soon of  hopefully our ten acre tracts.




1 thought on “One Step Closer to My Dream: A Ranch

  1. Here is the poem for today at Writer’s Almanac (to which you can subscribe). When I read it, I thought of you.

    The Farm

    by Joyce Sutphen

    My father’s farm is an apple blossomer.
    He keeps his hills in dandelion carpet
    and weaves a lane of lilacs between the rose
    and the jack-in-the-pulpits.
    His sleek cows ripple in the pastures.
    The dog and purple iris
    keep watch at the garden’s end.

    His farm is rolling thunder,
    a lightning bolt on the horizon.
    His crops suck rain from the sky
    and swallow the smoldering sun.
    His fields are oceans of heat,
    where waves of gold
    beat the burning shore.

    A red fox
    pauses under the birch trees,
    a shadow is in the river’s bend.
    When the hawk circles the land,
    my father’s grainfields whirl beneath it.
    Owls gather together to sing in his woods,
    and the deer run his golden meadow.

    My father’s farm is an icicle,
    a hillside of white powder.
    He parts the snowy sea,
    and smooths away the valleys.
    He cultivates his rows of starlight
    and drags the crescent moon
    through dark unfurrowed fields.

    “The Farm” by Joyce Sutphen, from Straight Out of View. © Beacon Press, 1995. Reprinted with permission.

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