Nesting on Steroids

Clearly since I have painted everything there is to paint and stocked the baby’s room quite well, I must move on to bigger nesting projects.

Naturally, this means I’m looking at homes for sale in the West Virginia panhandle.

Why the panhandle? Well, it isn’t the metro DC area, but Tom could still get to work. It’s insane–I mean utterly wood floors and wraparound porches insane–what you can buy for $220,000 in Harpers Ferry. And the commuter lines are close enough that Tom wouldn’t have a vicious commute into the city. Just a semi-gross one. I could have trees and a yard and room for an herb garden. Tom can plant his veggies. We could buy a deep freezer and a pressure canner and join a local produce share and have all our dairy and meat delivered by the honest-to-god local milkman!! We could even take family field trips to the local tree farm/pumpkin patch/apple orchard, or go to the dairy and feed the baby calves!

I COULD MAKE FRUIT PRESERVES. AND THEN CAN THEM.

Er…clearly the fever has reached my brain.

Legitimately, I know this is a terrible idea. I have lived in the city, the suburbs, and rural country and I like the city–preferably one with a subway system–the best. We have plans to live abroad, in cities, in the Pacific and maybe one day in Europe. Settling on a house and a town isn’t part of the plan. Technically we own two cars now, but we’d need a far more reliable one that far out and the idea of committing to a sturdy second vehicle instead of our beater Accord (may she run steadily for two years and get decent resale to a high school punk enchanted by the SiR body kit) makes me feel all sweaty.

But oh, my dream of preserves. It lives.

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