When we first moved here, we toyed with the idea of naming our place. A lot of whimsical entries were tossed around, “A Rest in Thyme”, “Yesterday’s Place” and so forth and so on. While they were pretty and did reflect the property, they just didn’t fit somehow. Don suggested calling it “Marnie Daisy’s Place”, making use of a nickname my mom gave me growing up. My real name is Marian, but family always called me Marnie and of course, my mom expanded on that. Don delights in my expanded nickname while I, on the other hand, wish he would stop using it in public. Anyhow, I told him I would give it the consideration it was due and promptly discarded it. It was too cutesy, too personal and too precious.
I mulled over names and tried to find that elusive missing element that needed to be reflected in the name. It would have helped considerably if I actually knew what exactly was missing; but hey, if life were that easy, they’d call it heaven.
And so, as it often happens, the perfect name came to me when I was not thinking about it at all. I was outside, wandering around just enjoying the day and the place. I glanced across the road and admired the quaint old dam. Ah, another one of Spring's calling cards! The creek water, renewed with melting ice and fresh rain practically danced with joy. Its burbling, splashing sound joined in with the returning birds choir and I heard a song of Spring. As I stood there, watching the water merrily tumble over the dam's stern gray walls, “The Dam Farm” popped into my mind. It seemed good but not good enough. When I decided to call it “The DaM Farm”, the DaM standing for Don and Marnie, I knew I found the right name. It had a personal touch and that wry, dry humour I delight in. As in “Guess I’ll go out to the DaM garden and weed the DaM carrots.”
I mulled over names and tried to find that elusive missing element that needed to be reflected in the name. It would have helped considerably if I actually knew what exactly was missing; but hey, if life were that easy, they’d call it heaven.
And so, as it often happens, the perfect name came to me when I was not thinking about it at all. I was outside, wandering around just enjoying the day and the place. I glanced across the road and admired the quaint old dam. Ah, another one of Spring's calling cards! The creek water, renewed with melting ice and fresh rain practically danced with joy. Its burbling, splashing sound joined in with the returning birds choir and I heard a song of Spring. As I stood there, watching the water merrily tumble over the dam's stern gray walls, “The Dam Farm” popped into my mind. It seemed good but not good enough. When I decided to call it “The DaM Farm”, the DaM standing for Don and Marnie, I knew I found the right name. It had a personal touch and that wry, dry humour I delight in. As in “Guess I’ll go out to the DaM garden and weed the DaM carrots.”
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