Book #84

Fifty Acres and a Poodle by Jeanne Marie Laskas

This was an extraordinary book. Not only was it beautifully written, but the story it told was both magical and humble, entertaining and realistic. It is the story of a pair of city-dwellers moving onto a farm in rural Pennsylvania, where they are forced to deal with strange neighbors; sexism so ingrained in the social interaction that it begins to affect their educated, enlightened, liberated selves; the realization that their beautiful foliated land is in fact overrun with the strongest weed since El Seed, the mad dandelion king on The Tick (I made a Tick reference! Spooooon!); the tragedy of cancer; and the wonder of a happy marriage, complete with a fairy tale wedding that features the gift of a flower-strewn horse-and-mule team in lavender halters.

But it begins as books about real people should: with doubt. Jeanne Marie Laskas is a columnist and freelance writer who lived in one of the oldest neighborhoods in Pittsburgh; she has what sounds like a beautiful home and wonderful neighbors, a carefully-tended garden and two wonderful pets, a beautiful big-eyed dog named Betty and a tall, orange, prodigiously-tailed cat, named Bob, who has been her constant companion for ten years -- she says they are a unit, she and Bob. She is self-sufficient, capable and satisfied with things the way they are: she is in a happy long-term relationship with a psychologist named Alex (Who owns the poodle mentioned in the title -- a standard poodle, not one of those yappy things.), she has a close group of friends with whom she can chat and have dinner and go to see movies, and she knows her neighbors and her neighborhood. In other words, she is home.

But somehow, it is not enough. Laskas manages to capture the feeling of wanderlust without actually coming out and saying it or saying exactly why she has it or what she is looking for -- which is how it should be described, since wanderlust is never that specific or that easily diagnosed -- but it is enough to know that she isn't happy, not completely. She has a farm dream, as she puts it. There is a part of her that wants to get away from the annoyances of city life, that wants the wide open expanses she remembers from her childhood, that wants the solitude, and the ability to thrive in isolation, that she has read about in Thoreau. So she and Alex occasionally drive out to the countryside and look at farms that are for sale -- never, she says, with the intention of buying. Just to look. But then the inevitable happens: they find the perfect farm, fifty acres on rolling green hills, in true farm country yet only an hour away from Pittsburgh and their offices. So they buy it. Despite doubts, despite misgivings, despite not being totally sure why they are buying it when Laskas loves her home and her life in Pittsburgh; it is their dream, and they do it.

And things work out, over the course of the book. They work out because their neighbors are helpful and friendly -- though not universally so; they find what could only be called a truce with their sheep-farming neighbor who has been known to shoot dogs that get after his flock -- and because the author and her sweetie truly love each other. That has to be the final message of this book: that dreams are difficult, and frightening, and can come on you without warning and without ever being fully realized and analyzed in your head beforehand, but they can be achieved. Despite a never-ending stream of obstacles such as hunters on your property (and you an animal-lover!) and a spring that never seems to come, leaving your beautiful green hills reduced to mere mud-brown, your dreams can be achieved with the help of those who love you, and those who may not know you, but are still willing to lend a hand. It's a fabulous and inspiring story, and I'm very glad I read it.

I still don't want a poodle. But I do want a mule. And my dreams to come true.