WHERE I COME FROM

It wasn't until I moved out of my small town and into the big city that I truly learned to appreciate my upbringing. While my fellow cityfolk played in a yard about the size of a sandbox (if they were lucky) with a parent's watchful eye constantly worried about any number of crazies that are known to wander the city, I had 22 sprawling acres to explore and roam freely. And when we had a cougar scare when I was around ten I just had to be sure to bring along my Twin Star whistle to ward off any possible wild cat attack. However, with vast space comes an undeniable urge to fill it.

My sister's and I have always joked that my parents should be featured on one of those hoarders shows due to the volume of junk that has accumulated over the last 30+ years. It wasn't until I stumbled upon this Apartment Therapy house tour that I discovered the distinction between a classic hoarder and a collector. Both my parents are expert collectors. What at first glance may resemble chaos, is actually a pretty systematic process of organization. They seem to thoroughly enjoy finding things, lugging them home and then discovering the perfect spot for them to stay for eternity with like counterparts (whether that be fellow old doors, antique window frames or rubber balls).

Clockwise from top left:
[1] Our pet graveyard where are our much loved furry family members are laid to rest in the shade of evergreen trees.
[2] The iconic cat house that many of our cats and stray cats have called home. The cat house comes complete with heating lamps, scratching posts, and even my toddler bed.
[3] The wooden fence that lines the perimeter of a field that used to keep cows and horses.
[4] One example of organized chaos. Here you can see the old doors and windows that my dad has saved from his demolition jobs, as well as dusty old balls that grandchildren now have the pleasure of playing with.
[5] My dad's old work boot that my mom has turned into a flower pot--talk about recycling.
[6] While this may look like an outhouse, it is actually a smoke house. It hasn't been used for its true purpose in probably over 20 years but yet it still sits.
[7] Inside the barn that once housed our farm animals but now looks frozen in time since the last bunch of cattle we had years ago.
[8] A cement basketball court now used for as an annex patio.

[The back view of the barnwood-siding home my dad built in the 1970s]

[Left: Front view of the house and deck
Right: Work boots left next to an old car being stored in our garage]

[One of the tractors that is housed in the barn]

[Left: A lasting remnant of the baby calves we raised
Right: The weeping willow tree that was found overturned after a
windstorm the first year it was planted.]

[The interior of the garage shows the eclectic collection of bikes, mowers,
cars, four-wheelers, barbecues or anything else with wheels]

[The beginning roots of my animal activism]

[The boardwalk that my dad built for me. While the safety hazards are plenty,
at least the gator is fake]

[This final photo is a prime example of the type of orderly arrangment
that makes up all the junk that graces my family home]