I started out this trip behaving like a spoiled little West Coast snot, like a character out of that famous New Yorker drawing that shows a map of the U.S., with the Left Coast and the East Coast, and nothing in the middle. How wrong that is, and what an ignorant turd I was for falling for it.
The middle of this country has the nicest, most down to earth people we’ve met, and some of the most creative. And since arriving in the South, we’ve witnessed more talent, and met more artistic individuals here than anywhere else. Maybe it’s because they’re at arm’s reach here, whereas on the coasts, the artists and musicians I’ve met have gigantic egos, stick to their own kind and don’t make an effort to blend in with the masses, unless it’s to try to make a buck.
Last week while camping at Lake Manatee State Park, just outside of Sarasota, Florida, we met Mike and Brandi, two thirty-something campground hosts at the park. Finally, we’d met another fulltiming couple close to our age! Meeting them was ironic; we had just left our farmer friends at White Rabbit Acres, only to run into this Ohio couple who had sold their farm last June, to hit the road indefinitely. Like Jim and I, Brandi and Mike are both living simply, and staying out of debt so that they can really enjoy life.
I couldn’t help but think that meeting these two was a sign that perhaps Jim and I should rethink this whole farming business idea we had. Here’s why:
We went into our workamping gig at White Rabbit knowing that farming is no picnic. The week we were leaving White Rabbit, things got interesting. The State of Florida’s Department of Agriculture threatened to shut down Brian and Valerie’s store for non-compliance. It was an incredibly sad week before we left, and in this interview, taken just two days after the shake down, Brian and Valerie aren’t too thrilled with farming.
When we arrived in Fort Lauderdale, we felt like we’d just fallen off a turnip truck. The traffic is insane, the wealthy blatantly flaunt their money, and the price of real estate skyrockets. People in general are rude and aggressive, and it’s every man and woman for themselves. And as with most of Florida, it isn’t dog friendly.
We asked our friend Gene if it would be alright if we left Jerry in the truck with the windows cracked, while we met him for dinner at the Blue Moon Fish Company. He rattled off something about four cops and one pro athlete being killed in the immediate area in the last year, and said “you decide.”
It’s five a.m. and I woke up because my feet are itchy. Not because I have athletes foot or anything. No, it’s just that I’m too excited to get on the road again. After almost two months of living on the farm, we are packed up, hitched up, and ready for more of the unknown. We don’t really want to leave, especially in the middle of the season, but we have to, in order to complete our circle of the U.S. by June.
Did you ever wonder how campground hosts get jobs in places like Yellowstone, or along Lake Champlain? Chances are, they heard about it through the Workamper Association. They’ve been around for over 20 years, and their Workamper News is the best way to hear about adventurous job openings for everything from being an interpretive guide, to running trains for traveling carnivals!
Keep reading to see our movie with interviews from employers exhibiting at the 2008 Workamper conference we attended in Lakeland, FL.
No, I haven’t been hungover for the past couple weeks. I’ve just been busy with a few more important things since my New Year’s Eve post when I promised to make this video about our coconut experience…
We started out making an instructional video about husking coconuts. But I just couldn’t bring myself to ruin the Harry Nilsson classic Coconut with me blabbering on about something of which I obviously know nothing.
Whenever we buy land somewhere, I want a small hobby farm. Nothing too big, but I do want a vegetable garden, some chickens, goats and maybe a couple of cows. But the animals won’t be for eating; as a vegetarian since 1989, I love animals too much to eat them.
But, since landing here at White Rabbit, it’s become clear to me that if I want farm animals, I’m not going to be able to hide from the cycle of life and death that comes with them, even if my animals aren’t there for meat.
I haven’t always been a wanna-be farmer. Growing up as a suburban L.A. mall girl, I didn’t have a clue about where food came from, and the only farm animals I ever saw up close were the ones at the L.A. County fair. But in 1998, when Jim and I moved to rural Humboldt County, something inside me clicked, and I found myself falling in love with the simple ways of country living, like growing a vegetable garden and hanging out with the neighbor’s chickens.
Now that I’m actually living on a farm, I can’t tell you what a thrill it is to be able to witness farm living firsthand, like paying a visit to Outlaw, the four-hour old newborn filly next door.
It’s a swampy night here in Vero, and we’ve spent the last few hours swatting away bugs while enjoying the last of the holiday season. This monumental year is coming to a close, and even after thousands of miles and too many towns to count, we are both nowhere closer to deciding where we want to live, or what we want to be when we grow up.
We have our favorite regions, but really, the only decision we’ve been able to make, is to decide not to decide. In essence, that is a decision of sorts, right?
classic 
with me blabbering on about something of which I obviously know nothing.
hence the song in the video. Being the 
at the end.
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