Oh give me a home, where the insulation is foam

I was driving aimlessly around Salisbury earlier this week ... actually, I was going to the Herb Farmacy, but it did involve some aimless wandering in the Jetta, after I completed my plant purchase.

Somewhere on the way to the Herb Farmacy (on Elmwood St.), I saw the neatest little farmhouse for sale. I can't find it online, but it was nestled in a grove of trees and had what looked like a small barn or large garage behind it.

I may have spent the first 7 years of my life living on the ocean, but I spent the subsequent 10 years living on a farm. I feel the pull of a farm. And there was once someone in my life who talked of us buying a house like this one, with an outbuilding for his workshop.

That whole area is kind of odd - a mixture of new construction and old farmhouses. I prefer the old farmhouses.

Not to inflame Pedro (who must be on vacation with Bubba), but no matter how low the price, I could never afford the little while farmhouse.

Am I tiring of Plum Island? Not really - I think I'm tiring of the hassles of this cottage. For the past 2 days I've had to crawl under the house to hook up the hose to the only working faucet that isn't actually in the house.

Don't ask why I had to do this, but let it be said that I was cursing old boyfriends who screwed my previous watering device onto the faucet too tightly and then I was cursing men in general, multiple sclerosis (which took said person out of my life) and my lack of a big wrench (the metal tool) ... I don't enjoy crawling into tight little spaces where I know skunks and other beasties have in the recent past taken up residency and where fiberglass insulation is dangling from overhead.

And then a man appeared and fixed it all for me. Of course, then he just had to spray me with the hose ...