A Whole Lot of Holes

We've owned The Farm for nine months now.

More than 50 per cent of the family has lived here, almost full-time, for at least four months now.

And what have we achieved? A whole lot of holes.
A hole in the floor where we ripped up the crapped-out floorboards.
A hole in the wall where we ripped off the ugly pretend-wood panelling and found a fireplace.
A hole in the front yard which will, eventually, one day, become a herb garden and front path.
A hole in the skyline where we ripped out four or five trees.
A hole in the ground where our anerobic oh-so-ecologically-sound septic system will, eventually, go.
A hole in the bank balance where our two full-time you-beaut pays used to go.

I must have a hole in the head!

I keep saying this place is a 10-year project - you bet it is!
It'll be 10 years of work before we can piss off somewhere else and rent it out to some other poor sucker.

What have we achieved in four months?
We've killed a few chooks and a whole lot of earwigs.
We've grown a lot of corn and peas - turns out they're the only things that will survive the earwigs and chooks we didn't manage to kill.

On the plus side, The Kids have survived, as has The Dog and my marriage - despite the twin-ravages of working away and renovating.

On the other hand, other survivors include a possum, a family of feral cats (but only narrowly, thanks to The Dog's zero-tolerance policy for felines), a lot of onion weed and a family of spoggies in The Cottage next door.

Of course, the one thing we haven't managed to kill is our optimism.
It's not Turkey but it should get us through Christmas anyway.