For the past six or so months we have been looking for a new house. A new house in the country. A new house with acreage.
We've found a few beauties too. Two of them ticked all the boxes. And we nearly bought one of them.
But we didn't. And we've called off the search. We are not moving.
In the end we decided we really love where we live. We love the neighbourhood, the school, the community. Our house. It's proximity to everything. The fact that we know everyone on our street and we don't even have to arrange catch ups at the park because everyone is already there. We love that we have enough space to be self-sufficient but can still holiday in our new caravan for weeks at a time and not have to worry about who's going to look after our livestock (for example).
We love that we can potter in the garden and do projects around the house but our lives are not consumed by these chores. And if it's 45 degrees or blowing a gale we don't actually have to go outside to plough the fields (for example).
We worried that instead of providing us with a simpler life, one where we could spend more time together as a family, we would actually end up spending more time in the car and more time reducing the fire risk on our property (for example).
So we're not moving. And the money we've saved on moving costs and stamp duty we're spending here. Making this house perfect for us.
Chris and I have been planning this move since we met. But we were planning the move for when the kids had all left home (like 20 years). That is still the plan. In the meantime I will live vicariously through ivy nest, inner pickle, hugo and elsa, foxs lane, soulemama, and baby mac who have all made the move.
And to be honest, my vision of living in the country was mostly about these boots and a combustion heater. So I bought myself the damn boots and we're putting in the heater before winter. Happy Gill.