Tales of 3 Birch Farm: Stampede

Tales of 3 Birch Farm: Stampede

Farmher was going about her morning chore ritual and minding her own business. If we’re being honest she was grumbling to herself about how Farmer always ditches her with morning chores, but if she doesn’t help him in the morning he gets angry with her. How unfair. It was during this self-pity grumble-fest that a ruckus occurred. She heard something that sounded like hooves and then suddenly the Guardians began…

Chocolate Pudding

Chocolate Pudding

Have you ever just woken up one day and thought to yourself: self, I need some chocolate pudding, pronto ? I haven’t. But good for you if you have! I’m not big on pudding. Maybe it’s because I find it overwhelming. It’s either too sweet or too rich. Or maybe it’s because my Mom fed it to me one time when I was sick and I barfed it back up…

Apple Pie

Apple Pie

The days of February are the longest. I don’t care that February is supposed to be the shortest month, by all respects it’s the longest month of the entire year. Everything is devoid of colour, we are pummelled with copious amounts of snow, and I pull myself deep into my little valley home, like some wild animal in a burrow, and drink massive amounts of tea and nibble on goodies.…

Tales of 3 Birch Farm: The Big Day

Tales of 3 Birch Farm: The Big Day

“Tales of 3 Birch Farm” are something I’ve been scribbling down for almost a year now. Just funny or serious situations that have arouse on the farm that I’ve given a bit of a flourish. Usually they’re told from the animals’ perspective. If you follow 3 Birch Farm on Instagram, you’ve seen a couple of them (like this one) but for the most part they end up in a document…

It’s Time For A New Table

It’s Time For A New Table

Hello? Are you still out there? Did you survive the Christmas, New Years madness? I’m still trying to figure out what day it is and what I’m supposed to be doing. I tend to just stumble around yelling, do you need me? Do youuu need me? What about youuuuu?! The animals don’t answer. They just snort and go back to whatever it was they were doing. Thats about when my…

When I Miss Her

When I Miss Her

Most days I don’t want to be reminded of her. I don’t want to recall the way she talked and the things she did. I would rather not be reminded of the pain she inflicted to others and herself in the name of pleasure and ‘fitting in’. She marched to her own drum, she was angry at the world, and she hardly took no for an answer. The only spark…