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Consider the Cow
When thinking about women’s issues, perhaps we should look to nature for understanding.
When Nashville exploded with coastal emigration, and our once tolerably trafficked street grew congested with insipid flat-roofed homes, my husband and I decided what the hell and purchased a 15-acre farm in Springfield, Tennessee — a mere 30 miles from Music City. After carefully crafting a pros and cons spreadsheet, signing on the dotted line was the only logical conclusion: country living was for us, as long as it didn’t mean giving up all of our creature comforts. For me, this included close-ish proximity to hot yoga, Club Pilates, and a swanky bar — mostly for the fashion scene and less for the bespoke cocktails. For him, an unsurprising, practical list: access to an automatic car wash, a local butcher, and a Bass Pro Shop somewhere along his commute to work. Given his requirements, my hubby was well-suited for the country. I was probably less so, but as far back as my memory would take me I remember craving wide open spaces for silent wandering.
We were ready.
Despite my intense reading and manic internet queries of “farm living,” I found myself ill-prepared for the realities of shifting from city life to rural existence. For example, I was not aware that carpenter bees don’t sting, but they do take three years to fully excavate from their caves and typically burrow…
