We Bought a Farm: Farmer Wendi

Yesterday I made an egg/lamb drop. 

(It is sort of like a drug drop, but it isn't illegal and it includes farm products instead of drugs.)

This particular family have become very regular costumers. (I'll call her MK to keep her anonymous since this is a ... "drop".) They love what we are doing and strive to eat foods from farms like ours. I love selling to people like her. It feels so good to hand things over to someone who understands why I am so proud of it. 

As I handed over the eggs and ground lamb and we chatted for a few minutes, MK said, "When my three-year-old asked me where we were running off to, I told her, We are going to see Farmer Wendi."

Seriously.

Her little girl knows me as Farmer Wendi.

Later that evening, I recounted the story to JB. 

"I achieved a life goal today," I told him. "To be called Farmer Wendi."

We both laughed. 

Hard.

"Did you ever, every picture your life ..."

He didn't need to finish the question.

The answer is NO! No! Definitely not! Ever!

The grown-up Wendi in the little-girl Wendi's mind lives in the suburbs. There are neighbors and a tiny yard and maybe a dog. And if the kids were really lucky a goldfish or something. She'd buy her food at the grocery store and her hands would never get dirty unless you count a trip to the beach with her kiddos where she built sandcastles. 

Never in a million years would I be living in the country. Never rural. Never not seeing neighbors from my front porch. Never, ever being Farmer Wendi. 

Ever.

And yet ... deep down, I know this is where I belong. I also know I could never, ever go back to the Wendi of my dreams.

Thanking God today for the dreams that don't come true ...