Foreward: This is a continuation of “From Jet-Set to Farmette, Part I and II”, which you can read here and here. Often people ask just how exactly myself and himself met, so I thought it would be handy if I put together a little series of posts laying out the low-down with as many details as can tastefully be shared. If you are not into sappy love stories, I’d give it a skip.

Over the next year, I racked up many frequent-flyer miles travelling to Ireland where I was introduced to MDF’s* wonderful family and the farm. The farm was at once traditional and modern, with old stone buildings as well as Lely dairy milking robots. Despite becoming familiar with a whole new set of “fragrances”,  I was fascinated and felt great admiration for how their family farm worked as well as its deep history.  We toured all around the magical and extraordinary island of Ireland, which captured my heart just as much as the farmer himself.  During this time, we also spent two weeks together on the Amalfi Coast and Rome, Italy where we had unforgettable adventures and the most delicious food either of us had ever experienced.

Then it was his turn. He traveled back to my neck of the woods to meet family and more friends. Complete adoration. My father especially took a shine and told me that I was beginning to resemble the Cheshire Cat, which pleased him very much. My sweetheart even made his way to the Rocky Mountains for a long weekend to attend a friend’s wedding with me. It was official: we were in love.

Eventually the big decision had to be made. Who was going to relocate and when? If we were to continue our relationship, which we had every intention of doing, someone was going to be ousted from their secure little nest and make the move. As it turned out, that someone had to be me. My farmer would never leave his family business, which had been in existence for decades. He actually never told me he wouldn’t leave, but I felt couldn’t ask him to risk giving it all up and come to America to be with me in my rented, unstructured {i.e. crazy-fabulous} world. What if it didn’t work out? I couldn’t bear the thought of those consequences. Besides, I was a producer; surely I could get freelance work wherever I lived, right? {yes, this is where the love blindfold steps in}.

I felt sure that I would settle right in since I was a well-travelled and very adaptable person who treasured new experiences. There wouldn’t be a language barrier and I had finally become convinced that I was ready to trade my hectic life for a quiet life in the Irish countryside with my beloved farmer. We agreed that I would move to Ireland and if it didn’t work out he’d give it try in the USA. There was no choice, we could no longer live an ocean away from one another; we just had to be together.

One weekend, as we were enjoying a lazy loved-up Sunday afternoon in the Twin Cities, he lured me into Tiffany’s “just for the craic of it” and began asking me what type of rings and jewelry I fancied.  When we walked out of the store, I was giddy with excitement and couldn’t help but wonder what he had up his sleeve.

The next time I would see him, it would be in Manhattan. After a somewhat disappointing meal at Tavern on the Green, we decided to head back to our hotel.  I walked to the closet to hang up my coat and when I turned around, there he was, on one knee, with a ring box in hand. He proudly and nervously proposed to me, quietly and privately, right there in our room at the Tribeca Grand . I was smitten and stunned, and there was absolutely no question in my mind, so with tears in my eyes, I said, “yes, yes, yes!” {Remember that recent gallivant in Tiffany’s?}

We spent the rest of the weekend starry-eyed….discussing our amazing plans, hopes and dreams for our future together.

When I boarded the plane back to Minneapolis, I was the happiest girl in the world.

End of Part, III

Happy Valentine’s Day,


MDF = My Dashing Farmer

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