A Little Country Store. Day 380.

There’s a little country store for sale at the end of my road on the corner of 117 in Willard. It’s a small rectangle with a flat white roof, and has windows covering most of the front. There’s a little shed out back, a small propane tank, and it’s on a corner lot with ample parking in the dry dirt lot.

On the front door is a sign that reads FOR RENT and another that tells you NO TRESPASSING.

“You should buy that store, Mom, and sell your stuff and your food,” Baylee said. He was serious.

“I can’t just buy that store,” I said, laughing.

“You could sell the peppers you canned, strawberry jam, your spices, and your sourdough bread. You could also use it as your office,” he said, ignoring my amusement.

It’s fun to imagine running a little store and doing what I love for an income, but it’s a dream. I would grow more produce in my yard, get more chickens, and even have a little table where my published memoirs would be fanned out and priced.

The kitchen would be small and used mostly for snacks and baked goods, and I could even sell breakfast sandwiches on my sourdough bread, blueberry muffins with extra butter, and very dark Cafe Bustelo coffee.

What’s most fueling, however, is my boys’ faith in me, their undying confidence in my ability to do anything. They are not joking when they make this far-fetched suggestion, and they don’t give up. It’s endearing. It’s just nice. It’s invading my fantasies.