McLaws Road, the "Farmbelt"

Living in the outskirts of Holbrook made us the quintessential Jeff Foxworthy family.

There were two junk cars on the property nearly lost in the weeds and salt brush. When we lost our power or the well went down, we would have loved having an outhouse!! No likes letting the yellow mellow, if you get my drift ?!?!?! We lived on a very bumpy dirt road and this is how we told people to find our house:

Just before you get to town turn left on Romero. If you cross the bridge, turn around you went too far. Go left around the big curve, then go right around the next big curve. Now you are actually on McLaws road. Drive until you see the yellow house . . . which one? Don't worry, you will know when you see it (they all agreed there was no question when they did see it, even at night).

Cross the bridge and turn left at the row of mail boxes. Don't cut the corner too closely or you will scrape the side of you van like Jon did on the white pillars protecting something (don't remember what). It was the kids fault, they're a distraction. We're the first house on the right, ignore the little glorified camp trailer, storage shed, and pump house. If it's raining hard, check the little wash going through the middle of our property, it might drown out your engine and the mud is deep.

These are now located on the

other side of the road now.

I actually laughed out loud when I saw the sign. it was pretty primitive, but now it is smoother than I have ever seen it ! :-D At least they are warning everyone now!

Here's our home, kind of. It has been added on in right front. We had plans for that, but never got to do it. Jon told me several years ago to not go by because I would just get mad that someone else got it done. I went by, it was not done right and I didn't get mad.

When we first saw it, we started calling it the Dogpatch house because it perched on the side of a small hill. I hated it! Later the real estate agent that had showed it to me called to tell me that it was about to be foreclosed and the owners really hoped that we could take over the payments and live there with our sweet little family. They really liked us. I was pretty reluctant, but finally agreed to come see it empty. I walked around, stood just inside the one window that you can see in the picture. As I looked out at the melting snow and mud, I knew that this was going to be our next home. I cried, just a little. We got into it for just three back payments and late fees, some recording fees and not much else. By assuming the old loan, we could keep the 8.5% interest rate, a gonga deal at the time! Can you believe it?

What is kind of funny, ten years later, we had just moved, but back up to celebrate our ten year anniversary of moving there. We owned it, free and clear, so Jon & I figured we would retire there some day. As I walked around the house, I walked into the same room, looked out the same window, at the ankle deep mud, literally, and knew that we should sell it if given the opportunity. That chapter of our lives was over, we needed to let go. With the economy as it is now, I wondered if I would feel differently this time. we could live fairly comfortably without a mortgage. Really driving around and looking at the whole community reconfirmed, that is not where we belong it was the right thing to cut the ties..

It took us a couple of tries to grab this piece of land as it changed hands. It used to have two good garden plots and still has the fruit trees that we wanted, though they are in pretty sad shape now. It looked like the land has had the life been sucked out of it with the drought that has got a strangle hold on that part of the state.

The family "shooting range". We lived out there with coyotes, dumped domestic dogs packing up, and sometimes some not very nice people, so we kept a loaded handgun in the house. About age four, each of the kids were getting a little too fascinated with the idea, so this is where Jon took them to shoot a gun that would knock them on their keister . . . to drive home the point that guns were not toys. Then as they got older, he just used this berm to continue to teach marksmanship and safety. Now our youngest, Sarah, is Annie Oakley junior . . . . hm-m-m-m.