Barry and I each grew up in small towns in Connecticut. We married after college and relocated with Barry's job every 2-3 years for the first 13 years of our marriage. Most of that time was spent in the southern half of the country. Truly transients, in each of the 9 different states where we relocated, we lived in typical subdivisions and golf course communities for the quick resale value of the homes. Nine years into our marriage we had our first child, Rachel. Nineteen months later we had our twins, Mason and Megan. Three years after that our last son, Riley was born.

Barry worked in upper management and I home-schooled our gang.  Life was pretty great, all things considered.  But I had a growing desire for life in the country, despite the fact that I had never lived in the country.  Barry, on the other hand, was perfectly content living on a golf course.  He couldn't quite understand my need for the space and quiet of a farm.  But we both felt as though we'd been moving long enough.  So when we had an opportunity to move back to the northeast, to upstate New York, we decided to put down those roots we had always heard about,  hang up our traveling shoes, and settle down. 

We finally found our farm  in a little village called Charlton, New York.  From the moment I saw the property I was fascinated with it. It was like a picture postcard of New England. From the gravel driveway, the big red barns, the 56 acres with ponds, to the rambling old white farmhouse, this was the farm of my dreams.