Occasionally I am asked to tell the love story that turned
me into an Accidental Farmwife. Well, you might have heard it before, but in
honour of Valentine’s Day, here it goes again.
I first met the Farmer over 20 years ago, when he arrived in
Kemptville to teach at the college. My mother, who worked as assistant to the
director at KCAT, told me about the long-legged cowboy who had arrived on the
scene. I saw him a couple of times in passing at college events, and was always
impressed by his big, warm smile.
Fast forward several years, and both our respective
marriages had ended. He was in the throes of single parenthood and I was coming
home from after three years in Asia . About two
months after I arrived home, I saw him in the parking lot at the Kemptville
Mall. I waved on my way into the store, where I was heading to try on
swimsuits.
Two hours later, when I emerged from the store, his truck
was still there. My heart did a little flip. I knew he must be waiting for me,
and I was so not ready. I quickly got into my car, sliding down into the seat.
He suddenly appeared at my door, his lanky height lowering down to a squat
beside my window.
“Hey. I know you’re real busy with kids but if you want to
get out and talk to an adult some time, I’d like to take you for a coffee.”
I sputtered something about not being ready to date yet
after just arriving home, reuniting with my kids, trying to find a job…and
suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of all the challenges before me, and the
shock of someone asking me out on a date, I started to cry. The Farmer slowly
backed away from the crazy woman in the car.
“Ok well if you change your mind, give me a call…”
To this day, if you ask the Farmer, he will tell you that I
said no. I did not say no. I said I wasn’t ready, and that’s an entirely
different thing.
Over the next two weeks I drove past the Fisher farm a
couple times, and spent a few minutes a day staring at the Farmer’s photo on
the college website. Finally, on a hot sunny afternoon in June, I picked up the
phone and dialed his office extension. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hi. It’s Diana Leeson. I’m ready to go for that coffee now
if the offer is still open.”
“Do you do lunch?” he asked. I told him of course I did, and
then he said to meet him at the Edgewater Restaurant in ten minutes. I hung up
the phone and looked down at myself. I had spent the morning weeding a
flowerbed. I was covered in sweat, dirt and pollen. As I headed to the shower,
I yelled to my daughter that I needed help picking out something to wear.
About twenty minutes later I arrived fashionably late at our
lunch date. For the next hour we laughed and chatted about our children. I felt
instantly at ease in his presence so when he asked for a dinner date the
following night I said yes. And the kiss he gave me at the end of our lunch
didn’t hurt either. It just about melted my kneecaps off.
Those first few months of dating were a whirlwind as we
juggled young teenagers, work and farming schedules and I settled into a new
home in Kemptville. But the following spring, the Farmer asked me to be his
wife. I was totally taken by surprise, and spent a couple hours arguing with
him, telling him I wasn’t a very good investment and asking him how we would
manage with five daughters between us. He let me rant, then got a yes out of
me. We were married a few months later, on the farm.
I don’t know what made him ask me out that day, but I’m glad
he did. He jokes that I was one of the only eligible single women in town so
when I arrived he thought he better scoop me up before someone else did. He
also says, “you can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket.” Well, the
joke’s on him. I feel like I’m the winner here.
Email: dianafisher1@gmail.com
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