It was disorienting to come out into the morning sun and see Flo sleeping in front of a blue porch.  Mahlon is coming to apply another coat later in the week.

We’ve lived in this farmhouse for nine years, although that seems unbelievable to me. And every time we looked at the farmhouse, we saw white.

Almost all farmhouses around her were painted white for hundreds of years no one can tell me why. I’m betting it was the cheapest paint to mix.

Farmers have never had money to spare. I was struck by the image – some dead flowers, two fresh eggs,  a succulent Maria bought at the Farmer’s Market on Sunday, and Flo sitting on her pillow as if nothing had changed for them, and I suppose it hasn’t.

Our farmhouse is still our farmhouse. Maria brought me several ideas for colors and we both settled on this blue, which we think gives the house character and some dignity.

The old farmhouse was beautiful, but nine years is a long time to look at something for nine years. Everyone we know is driving by and honking and giving us thumbs up. How nice.

The back porch is really the heart of the farmhouse, the soul of the New Bedlam Farm.

Flo reminded me that the paint change is nice, but not all that important. Life goes on.