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Paradise Dreams




Sunday, I had a rare moment of inspired insanity. Yes, you read that correctly; I said inspired insanity. While watching it snow on Saturday and awaking to more snow, gusting winds, and more winter nonsense, I asked The Bean if she was ready to move to a tropical paradise? The Bibbed Wonder and I have a running joke that we should be living and making soap in Hawaii. We randomly search for farms and land in Hawaii, but generally, it is just a joke.


I felt frustrated after another weekend of unsettled weather, flaring inflammation, aching joints, fatigue, and overall achiness. My dad always said he was going to sell everything and move to Belize to live like a king. That was my dad’s running joke. The Bean and I began a random, half-hearted search for farms in Belize. Amazingly, I found one. The farm consists of forty-seven acres of walled paradise. The land is complete with lime, orange, pineapple, and coconut groves. It has silk grass, avocados, and a creek that never dries up. It also has a foundation and walls of a newly built but unfinished house. All this for a mere $175,000. Forty-seven acres in paradise for such a small cost. I made up my mind and was determined I would convince The Bibbed Wonder to move our dream to the mild, temperate climate of Belize. It was a lovely dream while it lasted, but it wasn’t meant to be.


As I marched through the blowing snow and freezing wind chill to the soap studio, I was confident I could convince my nay-saying wonder buns to sell all our worldly possessions except our goats and move to a tropical paradise. The Bean was onboard. I made promises of an in-ground pool and online school, so she was with me 100%. As I professed the wonders of Belize, the pros of tropical living, and how much better I would feel in a temperate climate, I could see the nay-saying wheels turning.


His first question was, is Belize safe? Yes, I said, it’s paradise! Of course, it is safe. This sounded great until I Googled it. Belize has one of the highest per capita murder rates in the world. Sigh. I did find places deemed safe in my defense, but overall, it was a pretty grim picture. The area where my dream farm resides is ranked #4 in the unsafest places in the country. Sigh. The road that the farm is located on is, and I quote, “a lonely desolate road where many grisly attacks and crimes have occurred.” Sigh. Many “ex-pats” encounter extortion issues with the local government and authorities. It is not uncommon for rules to be made that apply to no one put an ex-pat. Sigh. Belize sounds like a corrupt, murdery paradise plagued with criminals and drug lords. Sigh. Goodbye, sweet dream of a goat farm in paradise.


My impulsiveness was the butt of The Bibbed Wonder’s jokes. He professed his relief that we didn’t sell everything that afternoon and hop a plane to murder capitol central. He created scenarios of why the farm in paradise is so cheap. His favorite was, “the family who owned it couldn’t pay the fees to the neighborhood drug lord, so they were gunned down in their coconut grove and eaten by their pet pigs,” This led The Bean to imagine ways could buy the farm and stay safe. She suggests placing heads on stakes all along the wall of the property. Heads on stakes definitely send a clear message. When I asked her where we would get said heads to put on stakes, she said it would have to be the drug lord’s men. Eric informed her that would make us targets of the drug lord, and we would end up sold down the railroad tracks for a bologna sandwich or tortured and murdered in our coconut grove with our heads ending up on said stakes. The Bean decided she didn’t even want to visit Belize for vacation. Sigh. Goodbye, my ally in paradise farm living. Hello common sense, frigid temps, snow, and achiness. Sigh.


It really was a lovely dream while it lasted. It’s a shame even paradise is corrupt and filled with evil people who feed you to your own pet pigs. However, my entrepreneurial bean said we could move our herd of pigs to paradise and rent them to the drug lords for disposal of dead bodies. Sigh, even my bean can be corrupted. I suppose, dear reader, we will remain on our family homestead with our lovely goats, our non-people-eating pigs, sassy geese, and incorrigible chickens. Although, I did discover via Google that Aruba is the safest island in the Caribbean. I’m now searching for goat farms in Aruba. I might be foolish, but I am steadfast…insert a wink.


On this blustery, frigid Monday, stay safe, be smart, don’t move to the murder capital of the world, and keep washing your hands. I feel like I should add a lot more to this closing paragraph of advice, but you get the picture. Don’t be impulsive and sell all your worldly belongings, plot to overthrow drug lords, display heads on stakes or make assumptions without doing proper research. Alas, add don’t forget to dream big to that list. Nothing good ever comes of small minds and small dreams.

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