We're Selling the Farm
- Line Heggelund
- Apr 1
- 2 min read
We're selling the farm.
It has become too much for two people closing in on 60 and a new adventure awaits.
That's the honest version. No dramatic backstory. No crisis. Just two humans, a lot of buildings and work, and the quiet recognition that something no longer fits.
Eighteen years at Villa Solsiden. Kids. Construction. Coaching. A chimenea business. Horses. Alpacas. A golden retriever. More chaos than I can account for and exactly as much magic.
I don't regret a single year of it. And we're still leaving.
Here's what nobody tells you about choosing to leave something good:
People want there to be a reason. A bad one. Something that went wrong, someone who let you down, a dream that curdled. There isn't one.
We're leaving because something interesting called. A farm outside Sandefjord. 400 apple trees and a cider operation. A greenhouse with plans we haven't fully figured out yet.
We said yes before we were ready. That's kind of the whole point.
I wrote the books about this, actually two of them. About recognising the patterns that keep you stuck. About the moment the old script stops fitting — and you have to decide whether to keep performing it anyway or do something about it.
I know that moment. I've been helping people find it for twenty years.
And standing in a field I've loved for nearly two decades, knowing — clearly, quietly, without any drama — that it was time for us to move on? That's what it feels like. That's the whole thing.
We're getting Villa Solsiden ready for her next family now. Fixing. Cleaning. Clearing out eighteen years of "I'll deal with that later." (It's a lot of later and nice-to-haves)
I'm documenting all of it. The leap. The unglamorous bits. The learning curve of orchard life. The cider that may or may not work out. The moments that are harder than expected and the ones that are better. Because that's what the messy middle actually looks like.
Real talk. No vision boards. Follow along.
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