Guys I am stoked.
Spring is coming. I’m getting seeds ready to be started. I’m dreaming of gardens and fruit trees.
I’m even considering a greenhouse. Hubby is laughing at me over this dream.
Because I’m not the best builder. Nurture an animal back from the brink of death? No problem. Milk a goat? I got this. Grow a half decent zucchini? There’s no one better. Build anything? Hahahaha…no.
That’s why I keep Hubby around. Because he can build things.
Well ok I guess that’s not the only reason. But that’s not the point of this post.
This post is about farm life.
Let’s be real for a minute.
Farm life sucks sometimes. Like really hard. It’s tears and sweat and poop and dirt and death and more tears.
It’s butchering your own food that you raised from a baby. And then crying for it.
It’s being a midwife to a goat and not being able to breathe because you haven’t got a clue what the heck to do when the baby gets stuck, even though you read every article out there on the subject.
It’s praying desperately over a hen because she has an egg stuck and no amount of baths or calcium is getting it out.
It’s breeding season and moody goat bucks.
It’s smelly. It’s dirty and hardly glamorous.
It’s chicken poop on your freshly washed jeans when you’re already late for church.
I’m sure the neighbours walk by and think jeez April would it kill you to put a little lipstick on?
I’ve been so dirty and sweaty and friggen exhausted that I’ve just sat and cried right there in the tomato patch. The tomato patch that has been cleared by the chickens I might add. Then I get the streaks. You know where the tears have cut through the dirt that’s all over my face so the entire world can see that I’ve been bawling, except for me because farm girl knows better to look in a mirror most….well actually, everyday.
And the milk. Whomever said don’t cry over spilled milk never spent all morning squeezing it from a feisty goat.
Hear me now. This. Is. Hard.
If the food didn’t taste so damn good. If the milk wasn’t so sweet. If the cream wasn’t so friggen awesome in coffee. If the canned goods didn’t taste so nice in the winter. If the eggs weren’t so buttery. If the goat kids weren’t so cute. If the meat didn’t taste so good. I would probably quit.
But gosh darn it I love to eat.
Going into our next season brings so much excitement. Baby animals. Fresh milk. (Oh how I have missed fresh milk!) Gardening. Warm days. Grilling on a warm evening. Starry nights. Bon fires. But it also brings a ton of obstacles and decisions.
Cull our goat Sophie or try a hormonal support that may or may not help her to get bred?
Buy a couple more milk does or stay with the ones we have?
Phoebe will need a break next year, if Sophie can’t breed will Chelsea be enough to provide us with milk?
Do we want to pursue meat goats?
What about meat chickens?
We already need 2 new chicken coops, how are we going to get that done?
Our pasture needs a serious break. Do we spend the money buying new fencing to put up the new paddocks or dry lot the goats for another year?
Hubby says we’ll cross each of those bridges when we get there. April likes to over think everything.
But despite all the worry, the trials, and the dirt there is more.
Want to know what else farm life is?
It’s beautiful sunrises and sunsets.
It’s sleepy chickens. Which are adorable.
It’s rooster crows in the morning light.
It’s fresh eggs.
It’s fresh milk that tastes better then anything you could ever buy.
It’s spending time in the garden. And there is no peace anywhere like there is in the garden. Being among growing things is awesome. Especially because you get to eat from it.
It’s baby animals.
It’s feeling like royalty even though you’re eating peasant food.
It’s starting something so small in the spring and getting to harvest from it to fill the pantry and the cupboards and the cold cellar in the fall.
It is rewarding work.
It’s moving with the seasons in a way that society has forgotten about. Each season brings something new. It connects you to the earth and God’s creation in a way that nothing else does.
For now it is seed time. I’m hoping for a successful gardening year. I’m hoping for chickens that actually stay where they are supposed to.
I’m hoping for a greenhouse.
Hubby is hoping I will stop putting things on his to do list.
I laugh at that. He laughs at everything I want him to build.
At least we’re laughing.
What is farm life to you?