Farm Fresh

It's been a couple weeks since last I wrote. Much has happened in that time, which I'll convey in a few different posts. This post will be solely dedicated to Easter weekend when I accompanied my friend to his uncles' farm up in Santa Rosa. Why is the apostrophe AFTER the s in uncles, you wonder? Because my friend's uncle has a husband and they live together on the farm. Now this isn't just any farm--leave it to gay men to turn a farm into the most fabulous retreat ever. Seriously--this place is a cross between Charlotte's Web and The Great Gatsby. Think Lassie meets Jackie O!

Yes, on this farm there are chickens who live in a coop and lay eggs and there's also a big red barn, and, yes, there's even a weathervane...and a wooden swing under a picturesque tree. But, the barn has been converted into a gambling room with all sorts of fun slot machines and a makeshift bar that you can frequent while playing ping pong with fancy ping pong gloves. There's also a big lawn in front of the chicken coop...where everyone plays croquet!

I like to imagine that when they're not entertaining, the uncles wear designer overalls while riding around on tractors on their lawn with single pieces of hay in their mouths, but somehow I doubt that. They're probably too busy planning menus for their guests and collecting their adorable farm-inspired figurines to display around the house, which is part of the farm.

Picture it: me drinking a glass of wine while reclining in an Adirondack chair in my friend's stylie sun glasses, watching the clouds pass over us. Fresh crabs are being prepared in the kitchen as the sun begins to set behind the barn. A croquet mallet cracks a ball, sending it hurling toward the chicken coop. I turn the page in my magazine, unwrap a piece of Easter chocolate and wonder if the outdoor patio will soon become a happenin’ dance floor.