Welcome to Osada

Is it already time to leave?

I moved to Osada, what? four? five? years ago. For the freedom, and with a bit of adventure in me. I’d just inherited a patch of land in Eastern Europe all because I helped out an immigrant farmer in my home town in Ireland as a teenager.

There was a few of us working that farm, all young and foolish. I think the old man liked me because I listened to him. All the other teens would hare off as soon as their shift was over, but I’d sit, and drink a cup of tea with him, and listen to his stories about working his grandfather’s land back in his home country. It was only a small patch of land, he said, but they worked hard, and that allowed him to move once the EU opened up. To come and start a dairy enterprise.

Of course, the last I heard of him was it had all gone wrong. Somehow he’d mounted up debt, probably because he grew so quickly. Then he ended up in a nursing home, his farmland all sold off.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I get a letter from a solicitor saying his stories about his old farmland wasn’t just an old man misremembering his childhood, but something he wanted me to have.

The letter had some words from him, dictated to his lawyer. The old farmland of his youth was just a little grass yard on a flat patch of land, with an old shed and cabin, but there was room to grow it. I’d have to start off contracting for the other farmers in the area but he knew how patient I was (I laughed at that part) and I could soon make something of my own.

I arrived to a small farmyard, with a few quid in my back pocket and his ugly, old Land Rover that he had kept hidden away from debt collectors, or maybe it just wasn’t worth anything? Then I began something I’d never have imagined doing as a career before; farming.

Cut to five years later, and here’s me on my big patch of barley, driving up a slope, and... I don’t know? I feel limited.

I have 360 chickens, 50 dairy cattle, I’m rearing pigs and plan to sell off my first batch as the year closes out.

I have sheds like this.

I have a picturesque hobby vineyard outside my window that’s probably costing me more money than it’s making me.

I don’t know why I’m feeling antsy...

I guess that’s what this blog is about. I need to take stock of how far I’ve come and where exactly I want to go.

At the back of my mind is the American frontier. The spacious plains, and dense forests, all with room to breathe.

At the moment I don’t have that. I’ve filled out the limited space I have around me. I’ve got the routine of my farm chugging along. But I have no space. Not without serious effort, or at the least consideration. Osada is small and doesn’t have the industry or population to support a giant farm, but it’s not just that...

This is the perfect example. This is my harvester. I bought it second hand. It’s old, but it does its job. I’d like more; bigger; extra power; modern conveniences. But I don’t need more. I can’t justify more. There’s no scope here.

Maybe that’s why the old farmer left this place? He had a small patch of land but no room to grow. Then he ended in debt. But before his time was over he’d lived his life.

I think, for now, I just have to keep going with what I’m doing. I have to really figure out where I’ve been, what I want, and where I need to go. That’s what this blog will be about.

I’ve spent five years in Osada deep in the mud, but now, especially with my cattle, things are really rolling. I have money coming in from the co-op every day.

To get to this point I’ve worked almost every contract that came my way. I don’t think I spent my money as wisely as I could; the grape vines were a mistake, for example. However most of my equipment is second hand, apart from the cheaper stuff. Once I had a decent amount of cash—which took a while—I bought up and immediately cleared out the old abandoned farmyards on Osada so I could have access to their animal pens, making money back that way.

All that involved hours and hours of hard graft. Literal years. Every month working contract after contract for the other farmers in Osada. I’m a new person compared to person who arrived here, but I’m starting to feel stuck.

I’m not flush with cash, but I’m not badly off. I want a new challenge, but equally I don’t want to rush into things. Maybe it’s wrong to abandon a farm as soon as it’s rolling. I mean, I’ve still not sold a pig. But surely leaving after just a few years is mad thinking, isn’t it? As soon as my bank account is looking healthy I move to spend it all? Sell up and start a new plan? Who does that?

This is my home. Osada has done me well. But it’s become a bit too familiar. Is that just me being restless? Am I looking down on the good things I have? I need to figure this out. But equally I can’t limit myself. I need to start looking at my options.

If you think, Mr. or Ms. Reader, you can help me with this then please chime in. If you think you can help with my feelings of there’s not enough left for me to do here, despite me still not having sold my first pig, despite years of contracting money invested in the process, and growth, then please, do reach out.

I need to understand my situation, as it is, and I need to figure out what I want from life. I just can’t deny that new adventure is calling me.

I think, for now, I’ll let you explore my farm with me. I’ll help you get to know Osada, and what I’ve been doing, and what I will continue to do, at least for now. Once I know what I already have I can know what I’m giving up to move somewhere else. That’s the way of things, isn’t it? That’s the correct way to move forward; take stock, make a plan, enact the plan. And all the way take the help and advice of those who’ve gone before you. That’s how I started out, listening to the old farmer. That’s how I ended up in Osada.

For now I can say this is my home. This is Osada. It’s a home I never thought I’d have. But I don’t think it’s my forever home. For now, I need to seriously evaluate it and establish what it is that I want from my next four or five years. Four or five years, or perhaps even longer.

I do know one thing, though. I never want to work a contract for another farmer ever again. Now I’ve had my own land, I need to keep progressing for myself.