When I was shopping for my first house, my biggest fear was that I’d only be able to afford something boring — a 1960s ranch with no problems and no character.  I ended up buying a house that started as a single-room cabin in 1862; it was crooked and leaky, but certainly not boring.  In the course of looking for a farm, I saw a lot of barely-habitable places — ankle-deep bat shit and such — but I kept telling myself that if the land was right, I’d somehow make the house work (there are benefits to being single, after all).

One of the pleasures of Hollow Oak Farm is that the house is neither boring nor wrecked.  It’s a funny little Federal-inspired farmhouse built in 1803 (though I’m told the foundation dates to 1791 — I’m dying to know that story!), and though the outside is in need of a major intervention, the interior is well-kept and shockingly original.  One of my favorite features so far is the pair of cooking hearths, one upstairs and one down, both with working beehive ovens.  I’ve been slowly teaching myself to bake my sourdough bread in the wood-fired oven, and after some early experiments with charring, I’m starting to get something that resembles real bread.

Firing the oven

Bread just after it’s gone in

Ready to turn

Done