January<\/h4>\n
The year started out on a deceptively benign note. \u00a0Just your normal cold dreary January. \u00a0At the very beginning of the month we headed up to Boston for John and Sarah’s beautiful wedding. \u00a0John Sirgany was my neighbor, trivia team-mate, and all-around good guy until Sarah used her feminine wiles to lure him up to Boston. \u00a0He’s still an all-around good guy and Sarah is a peach among women, so we were delighted to help celebrate their big day<\/a>. We had a good time in Beantown where I dropped my phone getting out of cab, and a few hours later some kind soul found it and turned it in to the police. \u00a0A bit unnerving for Keith to call my number and have the Boston police answer, but luckily we were able to make a short detour to the police station before boarding a train back home. \u00a0Looking back, that may have been the last bit of good luck I had all year. \u00a0Later in the month friends Kevin and Sherri <\/a>convinced me that Keith was plying me with too much wine, so I needed to balance it out with a subscription to their new ‘nanobrewery<\/a>.’ \u00a0 It was a very good idea.<\/p>\n January Photos<\/strong><\/p>\n February was very cold and and very snowy. \u00a0My response to this sort of weather is to rush out and feed livestock as quickly as possible and then rush back to burrow inside in front of the fire with a good book, good music, and good bourbon. \u00a0 This is not the best recipe for losing weight and feeling younger, but… it was my modus operandi for much of the month. To aid in getting older and fatter by the fire, I refinished a few small tables just big enough to hold a book and a cocktail and recovered two cheap chairs in bourbon colored fabric. \u00a0I even made an ottoman for one chair, so now I’m in old fart heaven. \u00a0Also, in order to provide assistance in expanding my waistline, Keith decided to cook his famous cassoulet<\/a> for a Valentines day dinner we hosted. \u00a0It’s famous because you never know just what you’ll find inside his bean stew (I think this year’s version had at least 4 deer, 2 ducks, and 3 pigs). \u00a0Since finances were getting alarmingly tight, we cancelled any idea of winter travel and instead had a quick visit to Richmond to catch up with Keith’s music star nephew<\/a> visiting from Nashville at a great family jam session. \u00a0 And then a quick overnight to NYC with free transport<\/a> (compliments of Keith’s employer), free accommodations (compliments of Ned McNeal<\/a>) and free dinner (long unused wedding present<\/a> compliments of Mike Roselli<\/a>). \u00a0 We had great time because it was first class all the way, and, in case I forgot to mention it, it was free! \u00a0\u00a0<\/em>Nothing happened on the farm until sheep shearing at the end of the month.\u00a0 Jeremy & Keith took the physical brunt of things by flipping sheep for the shearer.\u00a0 I just picked up fleeces and sorted and skirted<\/a>.\u00a0 Even so, my back ached and knees were bruised and bleeding, and I was so tired of sheep and dreaded the 24\/7 on-call nature of the upcoming lambing season. \u00a0I’d much rather stay by the fire than deal with sheep obstetrics, but I hope that attitude didn’t come through on this podcast interview <\/a>I gave after this year’s shearing.<\/p>\n February Photos<\/strong><\/p>\n March was when things really started to go downhill for me. \u00a0Usually March does this little teasing game, “Hey, I’m a lion! \u00a0Look, now I’m a lamb!” \u00a0This year March did not mess around. \u00a0March said “I’m your worst lambing nightmare ever. \u00a0Prepare to suffer!” \u00a0Very cold. Blustery. Unforgiving. Lambing started a bit early – in fact, we were slightly unprepared when, during a night of\u00a0heavy snow, a ewe prolapsed and I found her with a nearly frozen uterus and a live lamb.\u00a0 Called the vet.\u00a0 Ewe died.\u00a0 Lamb lived.\u00a0 Then a second one couldn’t lamb. \u00a0I could not get the lamb out. \u00a0I called the vet for the second time in 24 hours. \u00a0The lamb turned out to be a monsterous blob and not alive and we had to give her a c-section. \u00a0It was easy enough to switch the live orphan lamb with the dead blob and the mother none the wiser.\u00a0 But then I had to call the vet AGAIN. \u00a0 A ewe was in labor but couldn’t lamb as she was not dilated. \u00a0We induced labor.\u00a0 She passed a dead lamb and promptly spilled her guts out too. All told 4 vet visits in the first week of lambing and 3 dead ewes!\u00a0 Not a very good start – and frankly not a very good finish.<\/p>\n What happened? \u00a0I dunno, but I was stuck with a whopping vet bill and only 60 live lambs.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n This was the year of large single lambs.\u00a0\u00a0 While everyone did lamb – they didn’t have their expected normal sized twins.\u00a0 They mostly had super large single lambs!\u00a0 If everyone had twinned we would have had 130 lambs. \u00a0So, realistically were expecting 100, but we only wound up with 78.\u00a0What happened? I dunno, but I was stuck with a whopping vet bill and only 60 live lambs. The rest of the month was mostly winter right up to the bitter end. \u00a0Chris Hall’s 60th Birthday was a lot of fun, and we did enjoy a few other things, but mostly it was the month of lambing disasters and miserable weather.<\/p>\n March Photos<\/strong><\/p>\n So April is when I should<\/em> feel better about life \u00a0– lambing is over, the weather is better, and city folks usually come out to the country and fall in love with a cute little cottage or a large estate, and pay me big bucks to buy it. \u00a0At least\u00a0this April was delivered on the weather: the sheep and lambs were on lush pasture; the kitchen garden was planted out; and the orchard looked good with new medlar and quince trees. \u00a0Yet underneath the surface calm I felt I was teetering toward disaster. \u00a0There were no<\/em><\/strong> buyers for larger country properties. \u00a0 They’d been thin on the ground for\u00a0quite a\u00a0while (hence my precarious finances), but now, right when they were supposed to make their annual reappearance – they vanished. \u00a0While my destitution was the main cause of this unease, another trial presented itself. \u00a0Jeremy, our trusty farm help was leaving to take a new job. \u00a0Those who know him know that Jeremy is unflappable, calm, competent, hardworking and talented with farm equipment. \u00a0In short, everything that I’m not. \u00a0I’ve always known he was over-qualified for the few days a week of manual labor that he gave us, and I was very happy for him when announced he’d been selected as farm manager for a large 7,000 acre estate. \u00a0Also, part of me was relieved that he found a new job before I would have to face the looming and sobering fact that I could no longer afford him even for the part time hours he gave us. \u00a0But….the idea of running this place on my own, without any help was daunting to say the least. \u00a0And while I could<\/em> do it myself on a full-time basis, it wouldn’t leave much time for income-earning work – the type of work I desperately needed if I was going to keep this place afloat. \u00a0And also, there are just some things with livestock that are simply two man jobs where you need two sets of hands. \u00a0 And, umm, frankly there are some jobs that I felt too old, tired, and uninterested in doing. \u00a0 What would happen?<\/p>\n I pondered that question as the growing season loomed in front of me. \u00a0The litany of non-stop work grew in my mind. Grass needs to be mowed, fencelines need to be trimmed, sheep need to be moved, lambs need to be wormed, gardens need to be tended, hay needs to be made, brush needs to be cleared, and then it all needs to be done again and again, over and over each month until November.<\/p>\n The more I pondered this, the more I realized this was NOT how my life was supposed to turn out<\/p><\/blockquote>\n The more I pondered this, the more I realized this was NOT how my life was supposed to turn out. \u00a0By this stage in my life, my house was to be finished (and mostly paid off!), and I was supposed to have some well-trained farm help doing all the heavy lifting so I could just wander around, gaze at my flock and take notes on What Needed To Be Done. \u00a0This scenario was dreamt up at age 35 when I imagined my 55 year old self wandering the farm saying things like, “Oh George, I noticed that the meadow paddock was looking a little overgrown, and get one of the men to weed-whack along the fencelines this week too. \u00a0I want it looking sharp for the weekend!”<\/em> \u00a0And George, or Jorge, or whatever his name was to be, would say, “Sure thing boss! \u00a0We’ll get right on it!”<\/em> \u00a0Instead here I was at age 55 feeling that my pride and joy was becoming more and more of an expensive lodestode I could not afford. \u00a0The bright spots were a visit from our nieces Ava<\/a> and then Meg<\/a>, and a long delayed visit from Fred & Joost<\/a>. \u00a0 They did their best to cheer me up – and succeeded to some extent. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n April Photos<\/strong><\/p>\n My April funk deepened into May depression. \u00a0Not even the nice weather, garden parties, new goslings, or hatching over 100 baby chicks could shake my despondency. \u00a0The one bright spot was nephew Will Zuschlag’s extended stay in the area to train with some of the top equestrians in the country<\/a>. \u00a0He’s got a great (Olympic?) future ahead of him if he wants to pursue riding.<\/p>\n But after 5 straight months without any income whatsoever I was becoming increasingly desperate and those 3 am panic attacks that grip the dark recesses of the soul were becoming more and more frequent. \u00a0 What to do? What to do?<\/p>\n Very aware that I had no farm help to maintain this place, and all too aware that I had no business coming in, I threw myself at farm work instead. \u00a0I was determined to stay ahead of things if I was going to do this all on my own. So the farm glistened at the beginning of the growing season. \u00a0Every fenceline was clear, hedges trimmed, gardens manicured, and pastures assumed golf course perfection. \u00a0But honestly, this really didn’t\u00a0get me anywhere except further in the hole once I paid for all the gas to fuel mowers, trimmers, and tractors. \u00a0 And it didn’t make me tired enough to sleep the night through without late night soul searching….<\/p>\n The really frustrating thing about my predicament was that real estate seems to have recovered in every area of the country but where I live. And even here it seems to have recovered in every segment of the market except in the very segment of the market I specialize in. \u00a0It would appear that the days of the grand Virginia country estate are at an end. \u00a0So where does that leave me?<\/p>\n May Photos<\/strong><\/p>\n The realization that I could not sell the farm even if I wanted to (no ready buyers) put me in a huge bind. \u00a0Keith had been very patient in paying all our expenses so far, but it was clear that even with constant overtime on his part, there was no way to us to pay for things on his income alone.<\/p>\n I needed a plan of action. \u00a0Short of turning around the real estate market for luxury hunt country properties single-handedly (which I HAD<\/em> been trying to do for the past several years), there was nothing for me to do but consider alternate employment. \u00a0But what? \u00a0What would give me the income necessary to keep the farm until I could sell it? \u00a0What job would give me the time to run the farm while working full-time elsewhere?<\/p>\n Most importantly, what could someone my age hope to do after 12 years of basically working for myself?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n Most importantly, what could someone my age hope to do after 12 years of basically working for myself? \u00a0 The answer = nothing. \u00a0Since playing the lottery didn’t seem a winning strategy, and applying as a greeter at Walmart wasn’t going to pay my mortgage, I was stumped. \u00a0Back to square one. \u00a0Foreclosure seemed less and less like a nightmare scenario and more and more like potential salvation. \u00a0Indeed, I was trying to market several larger bank-owned estates whose owners had been through exactly that. \u00a0And they now were free of their properties and the responsibilities and expenses of larger country properties. \u00a0 At times it seemed almost tempting, but I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. \u00a0There had to be a solution.<\/p>\n I knew I was good at my job. \u00a0I pretty much owned the local market for higher end properties. \u00a0 But that market was gone, at least for the foreseeable future. \u00a0So, if I’m good at selling luxury properties, where are luxury properties selling? \u00a0Well, it just so happened that my firm<\/a> was about to open a new office in downtown, DC, in the very neighborhood I left 19 years ago to move to the country. \u00a0And guess what? \u00a0What was a fairly sketchy neighborhood 19 years ago, is now ground zero for stylish urban living<\/a>. \u00a0 I jumped at the chance to be part of it all.<\/span><\/p>\n It’s been a steep learning curve in a market I thought I already knew. Neighborhoods have changed dramatically and prices even more so. \u00a0The latest and chic-est restaurant changes every nano-second. \u00a0And the price of desirable properties ratchets upwards every minute. \u00a0After decades of population decline, DC is adding new residents at an astounding clip. \u00a0Most of these are bright and shiny new millennials not yet beaten down by years of experience, but sprinkled among them are empty-nester folks my age leaving their suburban homes and eager to recapture their youthful romance with city life. \u00a0To the younger buyers\u00a0I come across as an old fogey, so I decided to capitalize on that and be the wise avuncular fellow who guides them through the first time buying process.<\/span><\/p>\n So now I have a schizophrenic life of baling hay in the morning and pretending to be a downtown sophisticate in the afternoon. \u00a0Not sure that I’m adept at either pursuit, but desperate times call for desperate measures.<\/p>\n In late June\u00a0Phoebe the donkey finally came home from her ‘spa vacation.’ \u00a0 She had been gone for over 2 months on what was supposed to be a 2 week visit with “Reno<\/a>.” \u00a0 As anyone who’s ever met her can attest, Phoebe is pretty much the heart and soul of our farm. \u00a0She charms everyone and is the love of Keith’s life. \u00a0We’d long talked about her having a baby and went so far as to interview prospective fathers a few years back<\/a>. \u00a0So in April we had a ‘now or never’ moment and shipped her off to be bred. \u00a0But like many females that wait a bit too long to reproduce it turned out she needed some assistance to make it happen. \u00a0So, what was to be a short couple of weeks turned out to be a couple of months complete with hormone treatment as well.\u00a0\u00a0 She came home slim and subdued and we were more than a bit worried about her. \u00a0While she seemed pleased to be home, she also seemed very depressed and ey-ore like. \u00a0Despite a new pedicure she looked a bit rough around the edges and way too thin. We soon fattened her up and she slowly regained her bossy and nosey old personality, and by the end of the month she was back to thinking she was running the farm again. \u00a0 Hope that this time next year we’ll have a bossy baby donkey too!<\/p>\n At the end of the month the Supreme Court finally got around to doing what they should have done two years ago, so\u00a0at least now I can live out my days in peace.<\/p>\n June Photos<\/strong><\/p>\n July brought new resolve to M<\/strong>ake T<\/strong>hings H<\/strong>appen. \u00a0But that meant cutting back on farm maintenance and spending more time downtown. \u00a0So my surroundings got a little shabby for the first time ever.\u00a0 The garden was a riot of blooms and fecundity, but this year that meant weeds competing with vegetables and tomatoes rotting on the vine. \u00a0I wasn\u2019t happy having such a messy farm.\u00a0 And while I acknowledged the need to let it all go (no time, no money), giving up on the one area in my life where I still could exercise some control and impose order, was frankly more troubling to me than my lack of real estate activity.\u00a0 Certainly it was the most visible manifestation of my plight. \u00a0The only consolation was that we were too poor and too busy to even consider entertaining, so no one really saw what a mess this place was.<\/p>\n Much of my July was spent\u00a0searching for\u00a0parking spaces in DC and showing broom closets masquerading as million dollar condos to unbelieving millennials.\u00a0 The DC market is exactly the inverse of the country market. Too many buyers chasing too few properties.\u00a0 As a result most buyers are not only dumbfounded at the prices, but they\u2019re stunned when they\u2019re expected to go a hundred thousand over asking price in a bidding war.\u00a0\u00a0 My comments that they could buy a whole farm in the country for the price of a 1 bedroom condo downtown were not considered helpful.<\/p>\n Sitting in my downtown office waiting to lure unsuspecting buyers into my web, I spent much of my time retooling my real estate website to drive more traffic to it and make it as 21st<\/sup> century as possible.\u00a0 It took some effort, but the site does attract a lot more traffic (now, if they’d only actually buy a property…). \u00a0 Part of the internet overhaul was changing the structure of all my website hosting to make it more affordable as well. \u00a0Of course that meant changing the farm website and this one too. \u00a0 All are now pretty spiffy and I consider it a pretty good trade off for letting the farm literally “go to seed.” \u00a0You can see the results here:<\/p>\n\n
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February<\/h4>\n
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March<\/h4>\n
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April<\/h4>\n
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May<\/h4>\n
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June<\/h3>\n
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July<\/h4>\n