In college, I worked at one of those seriously hip stores in the mall that sells all the hottest clothes and blasts obnoxious music the entire time you shop. I loved it. So much so that a few years ago, I even got a part-time job working in a retail shop just to fold and organize and work on shop design. It’s a seriously weird joy.
So many things about the farm inspire that love of retail. First off – I’m now closer to my childhood hometown than I’ve ever been. In one of the small towns nearby, my sister-in-law and her sisters just opened a tiny boutique that simply rocks.
We also have this massive old barn that would make the most perfect private office and garden shop. While that’s years away at this point, I do see a little spark in one day selling cut flowers and produce from the garden. Aaron and I have talked it through over and over. While our very first year of growing is going swell – it’s unlikely we try to tackle such an endeavor before we know our yield and costs. Still, that’s not stopping us from day dreaming.
Combine the future plans for the farm with my general passion for stalking Facebook Marketplace and we quickly arrive at Myrtle.
Myrtle was listed for sale in Topeka, Kansas, a couple of weeks ago. Emblazoned with a Jose Cuervo logo, she was simply described as “bar cart thing” and offered up for $50. Sadly, I was too slow to buy her. In my mourning, I scoured the Internet to uncover a small selection of Myrtles selling across the states for as much as $900. New – the cargo trike looked to be at least $3,000 if not more.
So I sulked and kept stalking the marketplace. Retail therapy.
The reckless joy returned when she reappeared about a week later in Independence, Missouri. I frantically wrote the seller and arranged for pickup. Aaron and I loaded up the trailer, dropped the baby at grandpa and mamah’s house and took off for our day of claiming my cargo bike from the universe.
Upon inspection, Myrtle needs love. She’s a bit of a rusty gal. Her tires are in terrible shape. The fenders rattle and clank. But she’s here.
We picked her up and rushed her down the interstate to settle her into the barn. Now, we’re on a mission to get her painted and fixed up. With any luck, we’ll have an impressive haul of produce from the garden over the next couple of months and will get to do a couple of test runs with her at nearby summertime festivals.
Until then, we’re laughing at the ridiculousness of adding yet another project to the very long list of to-dos on the farm. Embracing the likelihood that she might sit in the barn for awhile, I declared her to be Myrtle – namesake to the olive green car that sat at the front of my grandpa’s pasture for eons. With any luck, we’ll actually get this one up and running.