When we bought this land, house included, our Realtor nearly had a stroke. I led him from the east side away from the newly built (by BC) blue sugarhouse house on Hollywood down 17th to the valley floor.
Each block farther west the Realtor would remind me that my father, the head investigator of Real estate Fraud for the State of Utah would probably prefer we keep our search east of 3rd. But I didn't care about zip codes- I was looking for land to raise my family on. Land for my family to raise their families on. Land to be real on.
That's not to say I don't have my moments of doubt. Unfinished drywall, paint-peeling cinderblocks, BC's driveway of curiosities, the overflowing piles of lumber, and the chickens.... but it always comes down to a small child and a piece of fruit.
With Beach it was an apple. She picked it from a tree stood in the field naked except for the red rubber boots taking tiny bites. The horse on the other side of the fence taking giant bites. Yesterday it was Baby J and a tomato she picked. Walking the yard getting hopelessly dirty looking for the rabbit.
This is what this place is here for.
We bought the little old house on 10th for the kids- all of them.
Even the ones I didn't know were coming.
I think it's time to get Baby J her own pair of farm boots.
Baby J on the tail end of her visit to back to Utah.
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