A guide to selective vision on the farm, townie addition.
When you live with a farmer, a toddler, and 400 unpredictable weather-based variables, you learn very quickly that looking away is sometimes an act of self-love.
Did I see it? Technically, yes.
Did I acknowledge it? Not even a little bit.
So here is a round-up of things I have confidently decided are absolutely none of my business...
The clothes in the utility that definitely have cow poo on them.
I simply them in the machine, said a prayer and walked away.
Woody eating something from the floor.
If he’s not choking and it boosted his immune system, I support his journey.
James casually saying, “The shooters are here”.
Shooters? Like... with guns? Cool. Cool cool cool.
The new stain on the carpet.
Mystery? Suspense? The perfect setting for my next breakdown? Until then, I walk around it.
The spider in the corner of the ceiling that’s been there for days.
We don’t speak. We co-exist.
Being told ANYTHING about the tractors.
PTO shafts? Hydraulics? Gearboxes? Spreaders?
No idea. Sounds expensive. I match the energy and moved on.
Whatever this smear is on my coat.
Could be banana. Could be cow. Could be both. It’s giving “mystery” and I’m giving “denial.”
Realising I haven’t worn makeup in over 9 days.
Am I liberated? Have I given up? I don’t know and I'm not looking in the mirror long enough to find out.
A tractor parked directly outside our kitchen window.
No explanation. Just vibes.
A dramatic moo at 3am.
Someone’s having a moment. Honestly, same girl.
A wet patch on the sofa.
Could be water. Could be child. Could be dog. Could be farm. Either way, I sat on the floor.
The fly that’s been in the car for three days.
At this point, it’s a co-parent with the aux cable.
James carrying a knife at all times.
It’s basically his rural security blanket, and I love that for him. Definitely none of my business, though.
The endless pile of laundry that’s never quite folded.
It’s a textile sculpture now. Art? Neglect? It's both.
Field locations.
Some things are just James-and-cows business and I respect that.
The faint smell of silage that somehow follows us everywhere.
It’s in the car. It’s in my hair. It’s in my soul. We move.
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