We bought a farm... Apparently, we are farm people now.

There’s a moment in every city person’s life where they say something wildly unrealistic like,

“Wouldn’t it be nice to just buy a farm?”

Usually, that thought passes somewhere between traffic, load shedding, and ordering sushi.

For us… It didn’t.

We actually bought the farm.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. An actual, real-life farm with hectares, wildlife, grass, fences, and birds loud enough to replace alarm clocks forever.

And just like that, it is mild panic, big dreams, and questionable DIY decisions.

The Great Escape

City life has a funny way of making you forget what silence sounds like.

Then suddenly, you stand on a piece of land with open skies and absolutely no Woolies within forty minutes, and something shifts.

The air feels slower.

The sunsets feel dramatic for no reason.

And somehow, drinking coffee outside becomes a full activity. Not to mention the sundowners!

We didn’t just buy property — we bought space to breathe again.

Expectations vs Reality

Naturally, we had a very romantic vision of farm life.

In our heads:

• Fresh bread cooling on the windowsill

• Barefoot walks at sunrise

• Chickens politely laying eggs nearby

• Calm evenings around the fire

Reality so far:

• Googling “how to identify snake tracks”

• How to maintain a septic tank

• Realising farms have approximately 47 things that constantly need fixing

• Having full conversations about boreholes like we suddenly hold engineering degrees

Nobody warns you how quickly you start saying sentences like

-“Did you fill up the water reservoir for the wildlife?” - We used to discuss Netflix series.

The Packing Phase

Packing up city life is emotional.

One minute you’re sorting kitchen drawers. The next minute, you’re wondering why you own fourteen charging cables that belong to absolutely nothing.

Somehow, moving also reveals who you really are as a couple.

One person becomes:

“We need to label every box." "I can repurpose that.”

The other becomes:

“Just put it in the bakkie and trust the process." "That is sentimental.”

Minimalism also sounds fantastic until you realise you’re emotionally attached to a candle holder you bought in 2019.

Falling in Love With the Simple Things

The funny thing is — the best parts of farm life aren’t the big dramatic moments.

It’s the small stuff.

Watching the sky turn orange in complete silence.

Opening doors instead of elevators.

Hearing birds instead of traffic.

Lighting a fire and staying outside too long because nobody wants to be the first person to go inside.

Life feels less rushed here. Less noisy. Less performative.

More real.

We Have Absolutely No Idea What We’re Doing

And honestly? That might be the best part.

We’re learning as we go.

Learning how to restore spaces, as we redo the two cabins for weekend getaways.

Learning patience.

Learning that every “quick project” takes three hardware store trips and at least one disagreement…maybe two!

But slowly, piece by piece, this place will become home.

Here’s to the Adventure

To muddy shoes.

To early mornings.

To plans changing daily.

To building something slower and more meaningful.

And to becoming the kind of people who suddenly get excited about things like outdoor lighting and Jojo tanks.

Farm life is already teaching us something important:

A slower life isn't a smaller life.

The Wilsons xxxx