My aunt once told me that finding a property you want to buy is like falling in love: you'll just know when it's "the one." Lately I've been unabashedly falling in and out of love due to the game that is property purchasing negotiation.

There was this one farm, south of Worcester, that turned out to be untrustworthy. Maybe because it was my first, it appeared to me, on the surface, pretty great. It boasted seventy some-odd acres, many of which in pasture. It drew me in with its several outbuildings, large and enticing me to imagine a herd of one hundred goats and a spacious, light-filled cheesemake. We had a home inspector come in to evaluate the decency of this particular potential purchase. A wonder it would be to have boyfriend inspectors...

I am Marie-Laure. I tell people that I am a cheesemaker, but the truth is…

I don’t know crap.

I trained with cheesemakers, affineurs, goat herdsmen and cheesemongers in France, Spain, Italy and Massachusetts for two years, working with them side by side. Since then I’ve scoured the northeast U.S. and Québec searching for the place to begin making that elusive dairy product out of goat’s milk. I’ve met cheesemakers and milk producers, spoken with mongers, learned the regulatory requirements to start a farm business, and looked at the costs of building a cheeseplant. As my very first French farm family warned me, my conclusion is this: start the business before I realize it’s too difficult and decide to quit.