Why I Want a Covered Front Porch on a Farm Overlooking the River

My father-in-law is one of my favorite people on earth. He's charming, brilliant, multi-talented, hilarious, generous, holy, has a work-ethic that won't stop, and is one of those people who you come away better for having been around.

Yesterday I got to sit on the front porch with him, as he reminisced about the old days... growing up amidst a herd of siblings on the farm. The kitten was sitting contentedly on his lap as he stroked it and mischievously flipped its ears inside out, talking about the farm cats when he was a kid. We talked spuds and chickens and rabbits and dogs and brothers and misadventures.

It was a thoroughly delightful chat, framed by a view of the garden, the field of cows, and the river... a cool late-Summer breeze blowing.

Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think the conversation, as wonderful as it was in and of itself, would've had the same patina... the same air of dream-like fond nostalgia... had it taken place in the suburbs.