In a possible world I would live in the old family farm by the forest. I’d have a wood fired oven, plenty of vegetables and fruit from the garden and more space in- and outside the house than I could possibly fill. I would eat my home baked bread for breakfast in the old chicken yard while enjoying the most stunning view over the Weser-valley.
I’d also have had an idea why I would and could live in the sticks, I’d have had another idea that would fill ex-barn and ex-stable with something sensible – preferably something sensible and income-generating so it would provide me with yet another idea on how to pay for maintenance of the gigantic roof.
In the real world the old family farm just got sold.
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