Field Notes #2

Choosing the life, not the house.

July 6, 2026 | 7:19 am

The sky is overcast this morning, and Greg just pulled out of the driveway with Ian and Sam for a day on the river. There's a good chance they'll get rained on later, but that doesn't stop these anglers. If anything, a cloudy day feels like an invitation.

Fishing isn't something we save for vacations. Around here, if we happen to look at the calendar and find an open day, chances are we'll fill it with time on the water. It's simply part of how we live.

Yesterday, though, looked a little different. Just up the road (less than a block away) is what we call the Brick House. It's our rental property, and after five years our tenants moved out in June.

A few weeks ago Greg casually mentioned, "What if we lived there?" That one little comment sent my imagination running. For days I pictured us living in an actual house again. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a basement, a garage... a solid little brick home built in the 1950s with hardwood floors and more charm than many of the newer houses around it. It has an English cottage feel that makes you want to plant hydrangeas instead of elderberry bushes and hang an American flag on the front porch.

It's not the kind of place where I'd let the hops climb wild or turn the yard into a permaculture experiment. It's the kind of house where roses belong. The more I imagined it, though, the more I realized I'd miss this place. I'd miss opening the front door and having our cat wander in and out whenever she pleased. I'd miss grabbing our bikes and simply rolling them out the door. I'd miss the feeling of waking up in this strange old church that's become so much more than a building.

Then I realized something else. Even if we moved, we'd still spend most of our days here.

This church has become Greg's workspace when he's editing social media for J. Stockard. It's where we record our podcast. It's where I make my herbal remedies. It's where August's friends gather. It's where ideas happen.

In a way, this building has become our community center. Maybe that's why leaving it never felt quite right. Instead, another idea started to take shape. Maybe we furnish the Brick House. That way we'd have a place for friends or family to stay, and we'd finally have the chance to tackle some of the bigger repairs that are nearly impossible with tenants living there. A few years ago, when we sold another house, it probably would've been the perfect time to invest that money back into this property. Instead...we somehow ended up with four vehicles for two drivers. Life has a funny way of doing that.

Yesterday we decided to quit talking and start working. Well... I decided. I've realized Greg and I get satisfaction from very different kinds of work. He's happy hiring out projects that someone else can do efficiently.

Me? Give me a paintbrush, a vacuum, and a list of little repairs, and I'm perfectly content.

So we spent the afternoon in the basement sweeping away years of cobwebs, vacuuming, mopping floors, and making it look as good as it did when the previous renters first moved in six years ago.

Somewhere between the cobwebs and the mop bucket, I think we quietly made our decision.

We'll rent it again.

As tempting as it is to move into that charming little brick house, it's also one of the reasons we're able to live the way we do. That rental income buys us something more valuable than square footage.

It buys us flexibility. It lets us decide, on a random Monday morning, to spend the day on a river or disappear into the mountains for a hike. That's a trade I'm not sure I want to give up.

After finishing at the house, we rode our bikes down to Printshop Brewing, watched a soccer match, enjoyed a well-earned beer, and somehow managed to argue over salad. Greg wanted a Caesar.

I wanted to use what the garden had given us. The romaine was gone, so all that remained was arugula. He insisted it had turned "sour." I kept trying to explain that arugula isn't sour—it's peppery—but after tasting a leaf, I had to admit it wasn't nearly as good as it had been a couple weeks ago. It had started to bolt, and once greens begin going to seed, the flavor changes.

Thankfully, the garden had another plan.

I noticed three Roma tomatoes had finally ripened perfectly. Just two days earlier they'd been soft and disappointing, but yesterday they were beautiful. I sliced them up with fresh mozzarella, basil, salt, pepper, and a drizzle of balsamic vinegar. A simple Caprese salad, one of Greg's favorites.

Alongside it, Greg grilled chicken thighs from Wisecarver Farms in Morristown, the same family we buy all of our beef from. They're some of the kindest people, and knowing exactly where our meat comes from makes the meal taste even better. Their chicken is flavorful, clean, and one of those simple things that reminds me why we love supporting local farms.

We paired the salad with a slice of sourdough and my herb butter I made on the 4th. I still made my arugula salad with toasted pine nuts, Parmesan, olive oil, and lemon, but I think we'll be eating a lot more Caprese over the next few weeks. And honestly, I couldn't be happier about that.

One of my favorite parts of summer is walking into the garden and asking, What can I make with what's ready today?

Yesterday I picked a blueberry from our tiny bush. Just one. The raspberries have finished for the season, but the native wineberries should be ready soon. The goji berries are coming along too. I usually dehydrate those and they remind me of little raisins once they've dried and become just a bit sweeter and a good antioxidant.

This morning I'm finishing my coffee while looking out the front doors of the church. Without Greg's truck and boat parked outside, I have a full view of the garden. The tomatoes are ripening. The flowers are blooming. Everything is slowly becoming what it was meant to be. Maybe that's what home really is. Not the prettiest house and not the norm. Just a place that gives you the freedom to build a life you love.

Sometimes the best house isn't the one you live in. It's the one that quietly gives you the freedom to build the life you really want.

Today's Notes

Inside: 82°

Outside: 72°

Weather: Overcast skies with rain moving in later...perfect fishing weather, according to Greg.

Kitchen: Fresh Caprese salad with the first ripe Roma tomatoes, plus arugula that's officially past its prime.

Garden: Tomatoes are finally ripening. A handful of blueberries. Waiting on wineberries. Goji berries are almost ready for the dehydrator.

Project: Cleaning out the Brick House basement and deciding it's time to welcome new renters.

Thinking about: How a rental house can fund a life with more freedom than living in it ever could.

Grateful for: A garden that keeps surprising me, an old church that still feels like home, and mornings quiet enough to enjoy the view with a cup of coffee.