Cow Pies, Diesel and Fell Barns

Thirteen years ago, we were in the market to buy our first house. In the process, we met a man who would become a dear friend.

Farmer Mark is/was a third generation dairy farmer at one of those high-on-the-hill beautiful Vermont farms that possess a Sound of Music vista. The farm had been his grandfather's. Life there seems to beckon one to hop on a tire swing hanging from a large willow tree in the yard while chickens cluck at your bare feet and cows moo. Things move slower there.  Life feels significant and important.  One can envision watching their grandchildren play there while sipping sweet tea on the porch.

{Sigh}

When we met Farmer Mark, he had just earned his real estate license to supplement and spice up his life on the farm.

We had no idea how to search for and buy a home and we figured he probably had little idea as well - being new and all.  But The Husband and I decided we would take the journey with Farmer Mark.  We would only buy a house with Farmer Mark.  We almost lost our dream cabin out of this loyalty in a scuffle with another realtor (that one owns a tree and shrub  nursery).  We were willing to walk away from the cabin if Mark was not a part of the deal.  But it all worked out and we got the log cabin and everyone won...And we bought some shrubs to go with the place. 

'We have a dairy farmer as our realtor!'.   He still calls us 'Ken and Barbie' (I had very blonde hair back then..and a figure. And The Husband...well..he still looks kinda like a Ken doll).

Yes. It felt like the right thing to do.  Working with Mark.  And it was. We are still in that home today (with some added square footage and four additional children).  And Mark is still a part of our life. 

Not having seen Farmer-Turned-Realtor-Mark in a few years, we crashed his farmstead last night with a BBQ in a truck. We brought the grill, too.

Yes, this is how we roll.

Except that we forgot lighter fluid.

That was okay because apparently, according to the boyz, one can use Diesel fuel.

Reeeeaaaalllly? Are you certain? (in my whiniest voice ever).

Oh No...

Oh Yes.
Farmer Mark has his own diesel tank.

'And while I'm at it, let me cut down some boards from my fallen barn over here to get our BBQ really started!'

Me next to the the imaginary tire swing in the middle of my photo essay of Farmer Mark and our BBQ.

In case you wondered what diesel looks like as it is being poured over your BBQ charcoal.

Me and my Barbie shoes are inquiring about boiling the hot dogs inside.

Mark grabbed some printer paper from his real estate home office to burn along with the fell barn wood. 

I'm pretty sure I heard some grunting and boy noises during this part.

success.

Contemplation...Are my children and I going to die from consuming hotdogs cooked over diesel.
Boy is it purdy here.

Every-Single-Meal-Looks-Like-This....for Colton.

Ciao!