Ah, retirement

Our son's two oldest children, both in their twenties, check in on us often.  Arick only gets one day off work (Monday), but he usually manages to spend at least a couple of hours with us; I try to fix something for dinner I know he will like on Mondays.  
Amber spends a Saturday night with us about once a month; she's a rather picky eater, but I always know I can make her happy by fixing pancakes for her breakfast on Sunday morning.  She was here this past weekend and watched part of "Woodstock" with me; I have it recorded on the DVR and was watching it in installments when Cliff wasn't in the house (he has no interest in Woodstock).  
Watching that documentary movie led to discussions of drugs, sex, and rock-and-roll; we had quite a conversation, let me tell you.  
And then I told her about our plans for Cliff to hopefully retire next year.  She expressed shock, just as her brother did when I told him.  
"I think we can manage to keep the place for five to ten years after he retires, if nothing catastrophic happens," I told her.  
"What do you mean?"
Inflation, I explained, will tighten our budget gradually (or not so gradually); we won't be able to stay here forever.  
"What will you do with this place?" she asked, still taken aback.  
"We'll sell the place, have an auction and sell a most of the machinery, and rent a little place in a smallish town somewhere, maybe Richmond.  Of course, our health might require us to do something before that anyhow; at our ages, there are so many things that can surprise you:  strokes, cancer, diabetes, Alzheimer's... your grandpa has already had heart surgery."   
I guess Amber thought we'd just be here forever, out behind the barn.  
Ideally, what I'd hope for if we're forced out of our home by inflation would be a place in town with room for Cliff to store his John Deere; he could clear snow off driveways in winter and plow gardens for people in spring, not so much for the money, but because he loves to do things with a tractor.  
Because I just can't see Cliff without a tractor.   
But you know what they say about the best-laid plans.