Last summer, we packed up our three-bedroom suburban life and trucked it out 40 minutes to a sprawling five-bedroom ranch. The latest risk in a string of many we have taken over our thirteen married years.

I’m not sure when the dream began, but my husband and I have often talked of our country-living vision. The simplicity and beauty of country life beckoned to us from the suburbs, although neither of had ever lived it.

Every time I read books like Charlotte’s Webor Mr. Brown’s Farmto my kids, I would imagine ponds and ducks and children running in fields of green and yellow.

Living in the country this past year has definitely held its excitement; barns to explore, woods to walk, and views to see. But I’m not gonna lie here and say it has been all Fern and Wilbur. It’s been an adjustment. Because you can take the girl out of the suburbs, but you can’t take the suburbs out of the girl.

Target and Starbucks are my people. I just can’t help that. Most may not be proud to be from the cookie-cutter community that exists 30 miles outside the city limits, but I am not one of them. The country is wild and quiet. So unlike the noisy pre-planned community I am used to.

The first few months on our dream property were like a honeymoon. We woke up to golden hills topped with a bright orange sun, and were in awe that this was all “ours.” Eyes wide open we would go exploring and adventuring, learning the land and feeling free.

Then we began the first of many renovations. And like my husband is always apt to do, we went big instead of going home. We (I mean he, with a rope and a truck and a couple of saws) tore down our old unstable front porch. We filled three full size dumpsters with demo from the porch and treasures from the barn like old T.V.s, canned food, and carpet.

We replaced 16 windows, created a man cave in the barn, rebuilt our front porch, replaced siding, installed a new front door and built a beautiful brick staircase leading up to it.

Our first family picture on the ranch! Pj’s, bare feet, bellies showing, biker shorts (on me) and all. I actually love it. 🙂

We were so anxious to start hosting events, we signed up perhaps a little too early. Getting ready for a staff Christmas party in early December, there was a day we felt like we were on Extreme Makeover, Home Edition. We had plastic hanging in our hallway for guys patching drywall, someone painting the trim around our front door, guys taking down doors and painting in the man cave, laying brick, drilling on siding, and an interior designer trying to hang pictures in the hallway so our house wouldn’t look so bare. I felt like a bride getting ready for her wedding. I was pulled in a million different directions and asked a thousand questions which needed answers on the spot. And then there were kids. Five of them. I’m so thankful my parents were there through this season making sure nobody stepped on a nail or super-glued their head to the carpet.

We made it through those few crazy weeks and January left us tired and happy for the quiet and peace we finally felt in our new home. But then it got a little too quiet. And then with baseball in the spring, too busy. And it seemed as if we had in fact moved, which of course we did. We knew we were moving to the hills, far from our friends, but we hadn’t felt it until now. We are people people and we never want to lose the connection to our beloved suburban community. But the 40-minute drive was feeling farther than it had before.

Nine months later, spring left us wondering if country living was all it was cracked up to be.

It was a hard place to sit. When you risk it all, you have to be willing for the potential reality that things won’t turn out like you were hoping. That you will in fact, have chanced it all and lost. When we moved, we knew it was a big risk. We knew we didn’t know what it would be like to live in the country having been suburb kids our whole lives.

But we felt (and still do) that sometimes it’s better to try than to wonder, and so we took the chance and bought the farm.

And as I sort through feelings of missing crowds but enjoying space, I’m reminded that any change we face in life is like this: full of pros and full of cons, of risk and reward.

Now we were wrestling with that decision. Was it all we imagined it would be?  Did we want to move back to the land filled with bagels and flowing with lattes? (I love bagels and lattes).

Although we aren’t shutting out the chance that we may someday risk again and move back to the burbs, for now we are staying. Even in the worst of summer’s offerings (heat and dust aplenty) we’ve renewed our determination to stay. We’ve remembered the reasons we moved out here. Fallen in love with a mucky pond, four-wheeler rides and some barn dancing–just us.

There are a lot of hard things about suburban kids going country. But there are also a lot of perks. There’s painted sunrises and sunsets that we can actually see, horses to pet, trails to run and bikes to ride over gravel hills. There’s porch swinging and sipping and some pretty sweet campfires (in the rainy season of course). There’s dreams yet to be dreamed and room to explore.

And as I sort through feelings of missing crowds but enjoying space, I’m reminded that any change we face in life is like this: full of pros and full of cons, of risk and reward. Risking, venturing, change–all these are unsettling things bringing unsettled feelings.

To any decision in life we make, there are perks and there are drawbacks. Advantages and disadvantages, pros and cons. We can never be free from both.

And something I’m learning more recently is that there is risk in taking risk, but there is also risk in not taking it. It’s risky to get married, to have children, to move to a new city or take a new job. But there is also risk in NOT doing these things. In order to save ourselves heartache or loss by staying close and keeping safe, there’s a world out there of things we miss. Things we never knew we would love or people we never meet.

High risk, high reward, my husband likes to say. The risk is that there may not be a reward. But how will we know unless we try? And if we try and fail? Well then, we have learned to be brave. We have learned to live unencumbered by fear of failure, and that in itself is success.

Because like hockey great Wayne Gretzky said, “you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

Me and the ranch man.

So we took a shot and we’re giving it one. We are committed to continuing this country thing, and letting the rewards of peace and quiet seep into our souls. We are taking the good, the bad, and the ugly (a.k.a the tarantula we saw on our front porch) and being extremely grateful for the opportunity we have before us. The opportunity to raise our kids in the great outdoors. The opportunity to live big and love big. To host parties and people and use it for His glory. The opportunity to live beyond our limits of comfort and find new strengths in new seasons.

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