The landowner. That’s me.
I once heard of a woman, about my age now I’m guessing, who had been going around disposing of her considerable financial assets by buying properties in rural areas of Vermont. About six or seven years earlier my friends John and Michael had bought 100 acres with a wonderfully intact, well maintained and very old farmhouse on it. Behind the house was a summer kitchen, and behind the summer kitchen was a large greenhouse. Behind that, my friends built a fabulous building, designed to look like a barn, that would eventually house their mutual dream, a fancy pants restaurant. They operated their excellent restaurant for a few years, then decided the life wasn’t for them, so onto the market the property went. It was expected to languish on the market for a while - the dang thing did have a defunct restaurant very close to the house after all - but it was promptly snatched up by the aforementioned woman. My friends had lucked out.
I heard the woman's kids had her declared incapable of managing her own financial affairs soon after this purchase was finalized, and that was that for her buying spree.
I recently purchased 100 acres on a lake in upstate New York State that has a rundown farmhouse, two teardown barns, and a lot of junk in the woods behind the house. A few years ago, I purchased a house, which I currently live in, in the small hillbilly town I grew up in. And now I am eyeing the house next door, a gorgeously well-maintained Craftsman home.
That would make three, and counting, properties.
I wonder how many more I could buy before my daughters had me declared incapable, too.
This is my entry to 
