Quaker
I'm going to put in an offer on a little place in the Quaker town of Greenleaf.  I do this because, a) I love the Quakers, their peacable nature, that they call themselves 'friends' without even first borrowing something or being frank about my outfit. Plus, their oatmeal is number one in my book, and b) Scout needs her own farm.  Someplace she can run and bark at the memory of Dianne, after and between our lessons. 

Fact: No beer is sold or served in the small town. It is a DRY community. Hack hack.
Fact: There is a city ordinance suggesting that every residence of Greenleaf own a handgun.  I do not own a nailgun, even.  BUT I do own a hammer.  A ball peen hammer. It is a thing of funtional beauty. I hope it will suffice for any civil emergency that might arise.

The property is small, shy of 3 acres, but really very pretty with lots of trees and a year long canal. Or so I assume its a canal.  Maybe the plumbing on this place is completely shot; starting sometime last spring, say, and the shattered pipes of my new little house have been gushing well water beneath the festering community ever since….The entire town is poised and ready to blame the new beer swilling owner for their sudden wetlands problem. Is that even possible? Perhaps it is everyone elses pipes. Sewage.  Greenleaf's fledgling attempt at a city sewer system gone horribly awry.  All that digested oatmeal and pure clean living water running year round outside my back door…Thank GOD they don't drink beer or it would be worse.

Because I've never done this sort of thing, I fear the dark possibilities of my naivity.  Still, I am excited about the idea of getting this property, of having a place to take my dogs, and me, away from my regular place and life.  If I can work sheep more, that would be great.  We'll see what happens. One thing is for certain:

BYOB. Raisins optional.

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