Spring time in Montana brings the inhabitants back to the pasture outside my fence. After all, I live in the little house in the Mama/Calf pasture. This means a picket fence or a split rail fence wouldn't hold up to the casual scratching from the cows...so I will always have a barb-wire fence. It also means that planting any bulbs is silly...it just causes the cows to come through the fence to eat the pretties.
My entry into the house is more of a pass through...and it is narrow. It is also where the winter clothes are kept, the cover-alls which have walked through the cow pucky, and the items needed to help mid-wife the herd are kept. Oh...then add in the washer/dryer and the furnace.
Still, whenever I mutter about mucking out the entry, I remind myself that this is my addition...and then I am okay. After all, having Grandpa's place will be more important in the long run!