Today is the Day!

Yes! It is here! This very day! After years and years of telling stories and then being told she should write them down (and then actually writing them down), the day has actually arrived when the stories themselves are printed on paper and published in book form.

This is the first (They hope!) in a series of books about the Farmer and his Wife as they move from a small village to a Farm. But it’s not like a regular book. And no, I’m not talking about all the journal pages and recipes at the end. Other books have those things. What I’m talking about is something entirely new. Something you can only find here. This book also has a musically-enhanced online edition, featuring a patent-pending invention from the Farmer’s Wife herself. You see, she wanted you to really feel like you were a part of the story, a part of the Farm. And nothing does that better than music. So enjoy reading this book, in a whole new way.

So, please share the news! Tell all your friends, and if you feel so inclined, pick up a copy for yourself (you can get to a store that’s selling it by clicking on the picture below). The Farmer’s Wife will be right here, waiting to hear what you thought of it.

Chapter One: The Heist

Some people live in cities, others in towns. The Farmer and his Family live in a Village, but it is getting too tight for them. You see, they have neighbors—they are lovely people, but people in general are not what they seek. They want land, lots of land, teaming with gardens and orchards and every kind of animal to fill it. They want a Farm. You see, they are Farmers already, have been for ever so long. A Farmer isn’t something you become. It’s something you are. Just like you don’t become a baker or a candlestick maker. You are born one. And they were born Farmers.

The Farmer and his Wife even met on a farm. Have you heard that story already? Oh.  So you know it. They met on a farm and now here they are, living in a Village. They do their best with what they have. They planted a few fruit trees, and a nut tree or two; they even have a garden, complete with a pumpkin teepee at the end where they read stories and drink tea. It’s nice, but in a for now kind of way. Their Farmer’s blood itches for more.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let us have the proper introductions, shall we? You know the Farmer, surely, that’s why you’ve come. You want to hear his stories. But have you met his Wife? And the young ones? They’re all here. The Farmer’s Wife is gathering and sorting the eggs, while Mikaela’s in the house, her head stuck in a book. Jacob’s over there, in the tree house the Farmer and his Wife built last summer. Hannah’s just where you’d expect her to be—off riding bikes with the neighbors.

She loves it here in the Village, which is quite strange. Of all three children, Farmer’s blood runs thickest in her. Isn’t she the one who pushes that chicken on a swing? And didn’t she name each one? There they are now, all in a line. They’re looking for her. You can tell by the way they cock their heads to the side like that. That’s how they look for her.

The chickens—they’re the ones who start all this. To be fair, it isn’t their fault. They simply do what chickens do. They lay eggs. Surely, they have no idea that these particular eggs on this particular day will change everything—how dare you suggest it! Why? Do you see their heads tilted to the side, looking for Hannah again? Yes, it is certain those chickens have been getting rather devious as of late, but to suggest they plotted this whole thing just to get Hannah to themselves is preposterous! We will not even discuss it. They lay their eggs and that is that.

The neighbors arrive, as neighbors so often do. Only on this day they stop at the coop. Did the chickens call them? One can never tell. It certainly is possible. But that simply will not do. That is a Guess. Let us focus only on Facts. And the Facts are this: On every other day, the neighbors pay that coop no mind, but today they stop. They stop and peer into the coop and see a fresh warm egg. They take it. And what does one do with a fresh, warm egg? Why, throw it at the side of the coop, of course. It is simply the way it is done. At least that’s what those who know about such thing say. That’s how it happens, anyway. They take warm egg after warm egg and smash them against the coop.

The chickens watch, heads tipped to the side. Do you see that one smile? Yes, a smile indeed.

And so, the stage has been set. The Farmer arrives home and sees his coop, the one he made from those pallets he brought home from work—you remember, don’t you? You remember how carefully he pulled out each nail, knowing that leaving them would hurt one of his chickens-to-be? Now, the Farmer must know that warm eggs are to be thrown, but that doesn’t seem to make any difference. He simply shakes his head and says, “This place is too tight for us.”

His Wife sighs, knowing he is right. “The house isn’t ready to sell,” she says, reminding him of the roof that needs fixing.

The Farmer gets right to work fixing this and that. It won’t be long, and they will be ready to call the company that sells houses and tell them to sell theirs.

And that’s just what they plan to do, honest it is, at least until the letter comes.

It’s a normal letter, typed on normal paper, and this is what it says:

Dear Neighbor,

I noticed what a fine job you’re doing fixing up your house. My dad likes it, especially. He would like to live there, if you don’t mind.

                             From,

    Your Neighbor from the Next Road Over

The Farmer’s Wife runs and shows the Farmer the letter. He reads it twice. “Can you believe it?” he asks in wonder. Just then a chicken walks by, head tipped to the side.

The chicken believes it.