The exact moment the joke became legally binding.
What started as a joke about seeing if anyone would actually buy a slightly haunted house turned into it selling in less than 24 hours for full asking price.
Apparently the universe heard me laughing and said, “Hold my beer.”
Then somehow, against all logic, common sense, and several decades of my life experience, the perfect log cabin on 12 acres pops up. In budget. Fifteen minutes from work. Streams, woods, privacy, and enough land to make questionable decisions on a much larger scale.
Winning the lottery once is lucky.
Winning it twice in the same month feels like the universe accidentally hit “approve all.”
So now the real adventure begins.
Farmer Michael. Mariah. A future herd of pugs. Mini goats. Trails through the woods. Campfires. Projects I absolutely have no business attempting. Trips to Tractor Supply that somehow cost $400 every single time.
First, we survive moving everything from Brackenridge.
Then it’s deck stain, barn plans, fence posts, and learning that owning acreage is just a fancy way of saying there’s always another thing to fix.
But some things you can’t fake.
Land is land.
Location is location.
And after years of life throwing curveballs, wheelchairs, surgeries, layoffs, cross-country moves, and enough plot twists for three different Netflix series, this chapter feels pretty damn good.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have 12 acres of future bad ideas waiting for me.
Thanks mom for the extra support. You always got my back!
This dispatch appears in What The F(arm): Sixty Dispatches from an Unqualified Ohio Farmer — $40, half of which turns straight into hay for the horses, the mini donkey, and the baby goats. The presses roll when 100 people pre-order.