Maggie has started yet another contest. One is supposed to look around their homestead, so to speak, and give it a clever name based on some characteristic. That's easy enough: I live on a freeway. While my bedroom looks out onto a normal residential neighborhood, my deck appears to sit in a plum tree that flowers late winter and whose leaves catch the sun so fiercely that you can understand why Moses might have thought the bush was on fire. For those reasons, if I called my place because of a proximity identity, I'd call it The Freeway Tree House. Not a bad name, but I like the one I chose several years ago based on a dream, Houston's Pig and Poodle Farm, if only in my dreams.
My back porch, only out here they call it a deck.
This is looking the other direction towards the freeway. As pretty as it is out here, unless you're deaf (which I am from living next door to a freeway), like I started to say, unless you're deaf, it's too noisy out here to truly enjoy. It's good enough for giving the smokers a place, and I grow a few herbs.
Don't get me wrong. I loves my home, but that doesn't mean I can't dream of quieter pastures, even if not greener ones. Wait! I've had an attack of rum induced brilliance. I'll call it the "It'll Do Freeway Tree House." It'll do until the P&P Farm becomes a reality.