I am basically a farm-girl at heart.
I never really think about myself as a country girl, but I did grow up in the country, on a farm… of sorts. If you count having chickens, dogs, cats, an orchard, woods, and a huge garden a farm. But I grew up in the foothills of the Washington coast, which is largely farm area (at least where I live, it is) full of trees that border large fields, farms with quaint red barns and sheep and horses (and lots and lots of chickens), dogs who bark with friendly, curious intent as you walk by, and countless barn cats.
And I don’t think I will ever really grow out of my love for the country.
As much as I am fascinated by cute little city apartments, with all their hidden nooks and crannies; as much as I could spend all day wandering alleyways lined with bricks and quirky pubs, farmer’s markets and flower shops and shopping malls and close-knit neighborhoods, I am not a city girl. I’ve harbored a secret wish to live in the city just for the seeming glamor and fun of it for quite a while, but I don’t think I would ever truly be happy in the noise and bustle and lack of privacy that the city holds. From a purely aesthetic point, sometimes I wish I lived in the city for pictures’ sake, but that wouldn’t be me. I’m not a city girl, and as much as a brick street or flower market might add to the photos, it doesn’t really represent who I am. It’s settings like this; the sunset in my mother’s overgrown field of a garden… that’s who I am.
I’m a country girl. I’m not necessarily a down-and-dirty, do-all-the-farm-work girl; I wouldn’t do well having to milk a cow or take care of pigs or tend fields… but I could do with some chickens and a big garden, a barn cat and her frisky little kittens running around. I’d be happy living in the country with my feet bare in the warm grass, the trees towering under the sun, the creeks cooling me off when it gets hot in the summer, and a happy farm dog to follow me around and play with my kids. The older I get, the more I realize… this is where I belong. I want to be the woman in the farmhouse with lots of kids running around happily outside, gathering eggs from her chickens, getting flushed weeding the garden, canning jams and pickles and peaches in the middle of summer to enjoy when winter turns dark.
As you can see, I am also considerably more goofy than my pictures usually let on. Those three are the better of what happens when my husband commands me to pose. I get facetious. And… er… creative with my posing. And awkward. And generally silly. I grew up with legs like this: scratched and bruised and scarred, although those scratches and bruises and scars were from kitten claws and blackberry thorns and scraping my knees on trees and bruising my legs on who knows what. And now it’s just pregnancy scars from PUPPS making me insanely itchy. So it doesn’t bother me to have these scars on my legs, fortunately!
Because they’re probably going to be here for a while. Till summer can blend them into the rest of my skin again!
Thrifted dress, heels, and belt | Target cardigan | Forever 21 necklace and ring | Headpiece c/o House to Home by J&S
A note on posing: I did this and thought it would ridiculous. But it turned out to be my favorite picture. So do ridiculous poses for the camera, because they might just look better than you think!
I hope you are all having a wonderful, wonderful day!