We’ve gone and done it. We’ve closed on 20 bucolic, serene acres of our very own…20 power-and-water-free acres with no fencing, porcupined with invasive plants, 1/2 mile of bumpy driveway, creek clogged with tree litter, and a kudzu field.
The closing is a relaxed affair in a brick bank building in our quaint downtown. We walk to the courthouse afterwards for the paperwork to get what’s called “a 9-1-1 address” (a.k.a., an address) because our land only has a tax-parcel number.
We drive out of town, pull on work boots, and walk the tax parcel for the first time as our own. It isn’t clear what’s more overwhelming: the nail-biting anxiety over the past week that the closing would go smoothly, or the feeling we have now, after the closing went perfectly and we have land.
Raw land is potential. We have dreams of goats and gardens and orchards and a fishing pond and solar and a geodesic dome with a view of the Great Smoky Mountains. But at the moment, we just need to get our vehicle up the driveway.
Where to Begin? Conversations and Lists
My friend Rudy likes to quote Henry Ford, and it’s always comforting. For instance, “Nothing is particularly hard if you break it into small jobs.”
Ttalking and writing are both great ways to process something giant into attainable steps.
Over the next week, as we’re wont to do, we have long talks in the car, during hikes and over coffee and basketball. I make spreadsheets.
We’re 2 long-time city people with a limited budget and no land settling, farming, or building experience. We’ll consult and hopefully become friends with plenty of neighbors and experts along the way, but as our goals are unique, so will our journey be. We’re drawing our own map.
It turned out that our map begins with two beautiful words: farm truck. We need to buy a truck immediately to begin to settle this land. Find out why the farm truck was our very first step.