Sunday, July 15, 2018


Guys, I would like to make it clear that I am not going anywhere. I am not stopping this blog. I am not selling my farm. I did not say I was doing anything of the sort. All I wrote was that I am dealing with scaling down some of the farm's operations such as the dairy goat herd and the breeding flock of sheep. On a farm with over 75 animals on it I am selling 9. All it does is lighten my chore and financial load a bit. While I did write in that post that things are hard I don't think it said anything about quitting farming. I have zero interest in doing so and will continue to raise chickens, rabbits, pigs, horses, dogs, cats, geese, summer lambs and hawks. Merlin and Mabel, Friday and Gibson, Aya Cash, and the work or raising chicken, pork, and lamb aren't going anywhere.

That post was about being honest about money and burnout. I don't want to be doing so much here and those two operations (breeding kids and lambs here) are the most taxing. They also make it the hardest to leave the farm for the night with the dogs if I wanted to get away. I want to open up my life a bit to have options to travel small distances and maybe just get an Air BnB for a night once or twice a year.

Good news though, the six sheep I am selling already found a home with a farming friend close by. She's taking on Monday and his gals. I am hoping to sell the goats soon, too. That's it guys. Nine animals and the work of breeding lambs, kids, and running the small dairy here. If I miss it I'll start over with new sheep and goats in the future. I just don't want sheep here that aren't being slaughtered before winter right now.

Saturday, July 14, 2018

Starter Herds For Sale

I am selling my adult sheep, a starter flock of 6. This flock includes a ram, three younger ewes under 3, an older wether and an older ewe. I am keeping the summer lambs to raise through the grass-filled seasons and butcher in the fall. I am hoping that scaling back on breeding, lambing, winter hay for six animals and worrying about their fencing and escapes will free up some income and time and energy. If you are at all interested please contact me.

I am also, with a heavier heart, selling my goats. No longer breeding, milking, and working to tend to them means making space for the most profitable animals -the pigs and also removes winter hay eaters and a daily task of milking. I am selling the duo now - with Ida pregnant right now and with Benjen the 6 month old Buck. If you buy the herd you get a doe in milk trained to stand at a stanchion, her young, this fall's breeding buck, and a companion goat - her own mother. A great way to start your herd and goat adventures!

Both groups are for sale for $500. If you are interested please let me know and please spread the word on your social media to help me find these animals good homes. The money will go to pay for the June mortgage and keep this place solvent. Things are hard in so many ways right now.

My email.

Friday, July 13, 2018


The past ten years of my life have been about one thing: this farm. Since I started toying with the idea of farming in my early twenties different I have published five books related to homesteading and kept this blog going for three farms in three states - an entire decade of one woman's story. It's been a wild ride and has granted me a life I truly wake up every single day excited to experience.

Pursuing this dream, learning the skills, and finding a way to share that story with people that are interested in following along has been everything. The cream on top was making a humble living off it; which may always be the single biggest accomplishment of my life. I am lucky as hell, grateful as long roots, and you have no idea how much I want to remain a woman with a dog, a horse, a hawk, and very very local BLTs in her future.

But I think it's time to share what has been so heavy on my heart for these past few months. I am dealing with some hard transitions, and the main one is deciding if I can continue to live this life. If I should keep farming, keep blogging, keep fighting for something that has me so incredibly terrified right now...

Sleepless nights worrying about getting through another winter, what livestock to sell off and when, what kind of future I want to strive towards - this is what I am at war with right now.

Some nights I wake up after a few fitful hours of sleep and lay awake terrified or crying till I shake. These nights are happening more often and I don't know if I'm strong enough to keep meeting them. And it isn't even the anxiety - it's dealing with it alone.

I haven't had a single night off this farm in seven years. I haven't traveled, grown my career, or seriously dated either. I haven't had health insurance, financial security, or companionship outside of friends, pets, and livestock. Every shred of energy I have has gone into farming—and that is not a regret in any sense of the word—but I am not sure I can keep plowing this row.

Maybe it's because I just celebrated a birthday? It's hard not to compare yourself to peers your own age - what they have accomplished but more so how they feel about where they stand in life. Everyone else seems so firmly grounded. I feel firmly combative. Not argumentative - literally combative. Every single morning I wake up trying to figure out how to tackle the farm's most pressing needs and bills. It's like I've been punching every day for ten years and all I have managed is a nervous and precarious homeostasis. I just want to feel safe. I haven't felt safe in a very long time. I feel like life shouldn't be so scary at 36, that every month shouldn't be a struggle just to keep the lights on and bank from foreclosing. I am trying to decide if that fear is fuel to keep a dream going or the thing stopping me from moving my life forward. It's probably both.

Everything is a day at a time, right? I don't need to figure this out today, but if you knew how heavy my lungs feel writing this you'd understand my pacing concerns. In a few weeks it'll be August and I don't have a single cord stacked yet. Last winter was so horrific. Some nights I just think about dealing with that again alone and it feels like all of my heart fills up with black ink swirls. It's not depression. It's not that sort of despair - it's the dread of the exhaustion and work to fight ahead. It's thinking you're almost done with the race and realizing right before the finish line it was a mirage.

Maybe this is loneliness? I never felt it before like this if it is. Maybe it's just the tectonics of an average life shifting?  ll I know is I feel like I have been trying everything I can to keep juggling this dream and it isn't enough. The voices telling me to quit, go back to an office gig, stop writing, just go away, they are getting louder. Is it worth my sanity to keep up a life that people vociferously hate me for? People don't make hate blogs about silent web marketers. I bet they sleep all night just fine.

If you have advice or constructive feedback, please send it to me. If you have struggled with this on your own farm, or whatever your dream was and was ready to give up, please tell me what you did to help make that decision?

Update: This post is not me ending the blog or the farm. It is me asking for advice on fear. I have customers, animals, projects, and work well into the coming months. Right now I am trying to just pay the mortgage and keep ahead of any looming threats to house and homestead.

Update II: I am selling the sheep (the main flock of 6) and the goat herd. The reason is to scale back and use the money for paying the June mortgage. I plan on still raising lambs through the summer that I buy in but not breeding any for a while. Same with the goats - getting milk from fellow farmers and making soaps but not tending to the dairy needs. I am hoping to find good homes. Please email me if you are interested. 

Monday, July 9, 2018

Portraits and Piglets!

This week is off to a good start, but it's a rush to call in every resource and possible lead on a sale. The truck repairs have me behind and I'm trying to hustle best I can. I'm emailing past supporters who have bought art, soap, logos and classes. Hoping to encourage repeat customers. The upside is sitting in front of a computer is a lot less hot than carrying buckets was a bit ago. I think everyone is topped off and ready for the nearly 90-degree afternoon ahead. So here I am, trying my level best. If you are interested in a pet portrait, logo, share of pork, class, or handmade soap do send me an email at dogsinourparks(at)! If you ever wanted a reason to support this farm, this is the time. I am trying to keep ahead of the wolves banging at the door and feel secure, the ever-present struggle I am grateful to have.

In other news I am excited to host a friend for a few days visiting from California. She'll be here soon and the guest room is ready and the dogs' tails are wagging. And she's not the only new arrival on the way because Dave the pig farmer/bartender at the Brewery in town is going to be here anytime this afternoon with piglets on delivery! I have a hunch they will be little ones and the pig area in the woods needs to be re-fenced and prepped for little ones so there is a nursery set up in the barn. So the little honkers will be comfy on this hot afternoon with shade and plenty of airflow and some goats to talk to.

Stay cool out there!

Thursday, July 5, 2018

Laughing At Deer Flies

While carrying the fourth round of buckets to the hill tonight at dusk I was temporarily blinded from deer flies and sweat in my eyes. I had been making rounds for only fifteen minutes but my body was drenched. Every five-pound bucket of water weighs in around forty pounds. It's the kind of intense heat and humidity you wade through and I smiled as I shook my head and used my ponytail the same way the horses' use theirs. I have become a master of the face fly swat with the mass of sweaty hair pulled back behind me. Good gods do I love this weather. I love every disgusting drip of it. Winter is too long, and too cold, and expensive and scary. The amount of money you have to have to be comfortable with it is borderline insane. I think of those nights that stretched through the holidays of -20° nights, burst pipes, flooded back rooms, and worrying about just having enough wood for February and I laugh in the face of the heat. I run in it. I pour myself into it. It is a gift of cold rivers and soft grass and fireflies and fast horses. How dare anyone complain after all that frigid gnashing.

It's June and I am already trying to save up for my first cord of firewood. I found out today my truck isn't ready to be picked up yet because it needs another hose for the power steering, another hundred dollars on the bill. Today I earned $75, yesterday $96. Sales are as languid as the summer weather. The only upside is all these repairs to the truck are necessary to pass inspection and being done as I can afford them. I worry all the time about things like this. It's why I write about it so much. But what comforts me is there's about six years of worrying about money and keeping this farm on this blog and you know what? I'm still here. Maybe tomorrow I'll sell a share of pork or two logos. Maybe I'll get an illustration gig. Maybe I'll get an old freelance check in the mail from a magazine piece. Maybe I'll sell some soap. The date seems to track towards success with stubborn persistence. If I can get through a winter like that and laugh at deer flies I'm on the right track.

I have been playing a lot of music, however simple and dusty. My strumstick has been coming with me for evening sits on the hill with Merlin and the Mare. I strum and they pick grass and swish those tails. It's a lovely bit of plucking and mastication. My tin whistle is in my shoulder bag. Sometimes I pull it out by the river when no one is there and play something bright for the water. None of my music is very impressive but it is whole.

When the water is spilled out in every station. When the chickens are in their barn with the door shut and coops secure. When the lambs are sitting in the dark chewing cud and the goats are in the barn... when the hawk's on her perch and the horses are quiet and far aside - that is when I stop. I take a cold shower and slip into a house dress and know I have served this place another day. I feel it up in my singed arms and sore back. It rolls down my spine like a happy charge. The world is warm and forgiving now. There's still time to get firewood. There's still time for all the things. There is until tomorrow, which one day might be forever so I will not complain about the heat.

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

A Working Fourth

It's a warm and humid day here, but significantly less so than it's been this past weekend. I got in a nice run this morning before the heat really sunk in and the dogs are enjoying their post-herding fan floor time. I'm checking in with you readers who keep tabs on this place. It's shaping up to be a delightful Fourth!

My chore list this morning is mostly centered around the gardens and their weeding and watering. I'm holding off on mowing and weed wacking until the weekend. Possibly piglets are being delivered on Thursday but I need to double back on those plans and check with the breeder. Basically, it's this time of maintenance and in-between work.  I have no plans for the holiday and am without my truck until I pick it up tomorrow from the shop. I'll spend most of today trying to push soaps and artwork online to cover the repairs. So my holiday is basically working through it and hoping for the best. If you're interested in buying soaps, a logo, or artwork send me an email!

When the real heat of the day hits I'll be spending time in front of my computer getting what I can checked off my deadlines and client list. If I can get that list wrapped up by sunset I hope to enjoy some sausages and a cold drink by a campfire with some audiobooks I am totally wrapped up in right now (Iron Druid Chronicles) and my kind dogs. It may be a working Fourth but it'll be a fine one! 

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

New Friends and Old Trucks

I had the most lovely weekend with guests traveling between Canada and Maine this weekend. Their names were Sarah and Danielle, Both of them writers I met online through mutual friends. One hails from Portland Oregon, the other NYC, and for two amazing days of heatwave they were co-farmers and river rats with me. They got up early and helped with chores. They shared meals from my farm and my friends' farms. They suited up for the Battenkill and posed like mermaids on rocks when the 96-degree heat made us worthless to the world as creative people. There was roast lamb, Creamery ice cream, and most precious to me: long talks on the hill overlooking the farm at dusk.

A large part of our weekend was spent at Patty and Mark's farm, Livingston Brook. Patty took us for an early morning carriage ride with her team of Percherons. We had lamb for dinner there Saturday night. Danielle and Sarah got to play with the Old English Sheepdog puppies Patty bred and spend time around summer day with barn swallows, horse tails, puppy breath and roast beast!

I needed the long weekend without the strain of deadlines and design files. I was so glad to just farm, talk, swim, and absorb the heat. And to see this place not through my daily eyes jaded by to-do lists, past mistakes, and apologies for a house with plywood floor - but as lovely piece of earth I care for. They didn't notice dust or cobwebs, they noticed Bette Midler the lamb toddling up to them. They noticed Benjen coming inside for a morning scratch with our coffee in the living room.  They noticed the distance of the river and neighbors and the fact that good beer is imported from the west coast. They showed me this place through fresh eyes. I am grateful for that. You can see so many pictures and tweets about our visit on my Twitter and Instagram.

If you don't see me writing here often, which has been the case this summer, it is because of being so absorbed by the work of holding onto the place and keeping it going, and the worry that constantly posting about struggles like today is getting tiresome to readers. My truck is in the shop right now to get power steering pump replaced, a surprise during a simple muffler repair today. I thought I was leaving with a reasonable bill and my truck but the freak failure means more money out the door while being bound here for the holiday. No parades or fireworks or anything fancy, but that's fine. I didn't really have plans besides being with friends at the lake. I am happy to start a campfire and roast something defrosted from the freezer with some sparklers.

The upside to these recent truck repairs: they're still so much cheaper than buying a new vehicle and paying a car payment and high insurance. I don't regret having this old Ford at all. I adore her. And if I ever need to make a longer trip I would just rent a car. But for town and country living like I do that work horse has been fantastic. And the title is in my desk drawer. It feels good to keep her going, and she's almost at 500k miles!

New friends and old trucks, what a thing. We all keep going best we can.

Friday, June 29, 2018


Things are okay. That is a hell of a thing to announce here. I am still trying to mail in the June mortgage but the fact that it isn't the April mortgage is a big deal. The lights on are. The internet works. Toilets flush. Water is hot. I feel like a queen. I had to figure out an extra $500 in truck repairs for the Ford but it is repaired. Now I have to figure out the house payment to stay on top. It's so close though. It's THIS month. To me I feel so damn lucky to be trying for the now instead of catching up on then. It is a small progression but compared to a few years ago, last summer, this winter even! Things are slowly getting better. If my luck stays with me. If I keep promoting the skills and classes I have. If I keep focused and work hard I think this place can be mine a little longer. It's all a gamble and a prayer. It's all trying and hope and sweat and memory. But it's my dice to throw and tonight I just feel glad to inhale the air around it.

Wish me luck.

Heat Wave

A heat wave is settling in for a weekend stay. This means getting up extra early to do the bulk of the chores with sunrise, when everything is dewy and cooler. It means three or four times a day checking water stations and refilling everyone to the brim, over and over. It also means including some electrolytes to everyone's water sources. Mostly, in weather like this animals need ample shade and water and a place to remain still; Cold Antler has plenty of both.

That's for the livestock of course. For us humans it means time in the river! I have two writer friends visiting on their road trip for the weekend. Box fans in all the windows and cold beer and cider in the fridge. There's no air conditioning at the farm but there is the Battenkill River and after an evening swim and a cold drink in the shade the entire temperature of the world drops to a much more reasonable degree.

We have plans to visit Patty and Mark at Livingston Brook Farm for learning about draft horses and going out for a ride in a cart across the farmland near here. Between that, the river, good conversation and lazy nights of fireflies and movies I am so looking forward to a little vacation of my own. I usually work all through the weekend on promoting art, logos, soap and classes. I draw and ink, design, mix and cure soap - but this weekend I am joining my guests in their vacation. Every once in a while even a farmer needs a day off.

Wednesday, June 27, 2018

Make Your Bed

Before the rain started, before I could feel every muscle in my back and arm hum, before I helped move 300 bales of hay off wagons and into the safety of their barn - before all of that - I started my day on this farm. The same good story every morning. The work of feeding, watering, checking, petting, talking and raising the animals that make up part of my livelihood and my neighborhood. Caring for these animals, especially that morning set of rounds, a ritual I cherish and a drug I need. To be needed is everything. 

The chores are always done in the same order. Always set to music. I can't imagine beginning a day without coffee and music. It's a choice as plain as making your bed first thing, a little order in a chaotic world. With a strong cup of coffee in a sturdy mug and a playlist of music that is guaranteed to lift my spirits away from the news or politics - I have my day started. And from that point comes the to do list of chores, clients, artwork, errands, and the everyday things that make up life on a small diverse farm. I go through them and celebrate the tiny goals made; a bill paid, a fence repaired, a box of soap mailed, another chapter written.

We need to make our days what they will be. Choose music and comfort and routine. Make your bed.

Sunday, June 24, 2018

Pork Shares!

I am picking up new piglets soon, and hope to sell half of them as meat shares for the farm (harvesting early winter). If you are interested in getting some pork send me a note! Only offering two pigs worth of shares this time so act fast! My goal is to sell then soon as possible so I can get repairs done for the truck and keep her going as well as cover the cost of the piglets from my friend Dave's farm. Here's hoping anyone local reading this who likes bacon they can visit if they so desire will email me!

Friday, June 22, 2018

In It Now

We are in it now: Summer. Hot and humid days and blessedly cool nights. Mornings start around 6AM and right now chores are the most intense of the year. Not just the usual care and feeding of a farm: there are meat birds in tractors that need to be moved daily. There's two (hopefully!) pregnant does from late-season breeding to monitor and check. There's sheep being grained and then let out to graze from their pens. There's a hawk to feed and set outside in her weathering yard (and morning training for us both). There's dogs and cats to feed, horses and their fly and foot care routines, pigs and their pet Max, and at the bottom (or top, depending on your outlook): there's me. I say bottom because the farmer is the base of the operation, what it stands on. I also say bottom because I haven't even had a damn cup of coffee yet.

It's been a bit of a month. Things are a combination of good and the usual scrappy, which I will happily take! The mortgage is a few days late, but not a few months late. Been working like crazy to pay it up to a safer zone and am trying like nuts to keep that momentum going. Things always come up. I finally paid off some dental debt from this winter, but now I need to get $525 in repairs to the truck and am hoping to earn that by Monday through art sales or future pork shares. Social media is where I promote that end of the farm business. Twitter and Instagram have been amazing. The only way forward is trying, asking, finding new ways to bring income to the farm that keep me on it. As long as I have the energy and will to stay here I will find a way to do it.

And speaking of reasons to fight the good fight: I have a week coming up that includes three fiddle lessons and two archery guests. After their workshops I have out-of-town writer friends coming to stay to round out the month as well. I'm so excited for all of that. And every day I have been doing some special extra homework, like washing curtains or deep-cleaning the shower to make the place a little more hospitable.

This farm has become my normal everyday. It's my home, my work, my entertainment. It's a small world, too - my 6.5 acres and animals and the small circumference around it of neighbors and friends. But when people travel here for classes or as friends staying to hang out - it gives this place such a boost of new energy. It gives me their perspective as well which if you also live on a farm can understand how important that is. To see others view your choices and home as good, holy crow is that validating and encouraging! A shot of hope in the arm.

Okay, time for that coffee. Send an email or note on twitter or insta if there's anything in particular you want me to write about? I'll d my best to post a few more times before the end of the weekend!

Friday, June 15, 2018

Come to Cold Antler & Leave a Fiddler or Archer!

Come to this farm this summer (or fall) for a special trip to see this place and leave with a new skill and the tools to practice it at home. I offer half and full day workshops in either fiddle or archery for beginners. The requirements are easy - come willing to learn with the ability to hold a fiddle or draw a bow, and we take it from there. You don't need to have any athletic or musical experience. These two passions of mine can be taught to anyone with the will to learn, a sense of humor, and the stubbornness to practice at home. I provide the instruments (class comes with your own longbow or student fiddle!) and you leave learning how to play your first song or safely shoot your first bow.

These classes also make great gifts! Want to give your spouse the ability to play a song or shoot a bulls eye? You can buy them from me and get a printable pdf emailed you can set into a card or wrap as a gift. The card lets the gift receiver set up their own date and time for the class at their choice. Classes here include:

Fiddle Indie Day: A student fiddle, spare strings, bow, and case. Class covers care and feeding, tuning, your first scale, your first song, and practicing at home. Play among sheep, goats, chickens and horses on the side of a mountain. Half or full day options - full day includes more practice time, a second song and scale as well.

Archery Indie Day: A palm wood long bow and string. Class covers care and feeding, safety, equipment and range rules, instinctive archery shooting and aim, target practice, and beginner tips and lessons in bow and arrow fitting.  Half or full day options - full day includes more practice time and a woodland field course shooting through cover, down cliffs, and at animal targets on trail.

You can also sign up for both in the same day, which means a morning of music followed by an hour lunch break and then an afternoon of archery. Prices vary by amount of students and times. Base price for a half day with fiddle/bow is $250. Email me to sign up at

P.S. I also have done custom classes in Chicken 101, Goats & Soapmaking, Mountain Dulcimer, Beginner Horsemanship & Driving, Rabbits, etc. Ask for a custom class if interested!

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

Dream Life

One of the things I hear all the time from readers and folks on social media is "You're living my dream life." It's lovely to hear and in its own way affirming. Knowing other people are drawn to the same choices or aspire to them is validating as hell, but it's also not the whole truth.

Be aware you're comparing the reality of your actual life to the curated presentation I am sharing online. My Instagram account does not show the slaughter day I was covered in blood and scratches from chasing an escaped 200lb sow in the forest during the most humid day of the year. Nor did I photograph my night two evenings ago when I left my bed to the sound of Hannah the ewe screaming because she got her head stuck in the fence. I was out there in the chaos with a flashlight between my teeth removing her horns from woven wire while coyotes howled in the distance and Friday kept barking.

If I posted pictures of those days my account would look more like Apocalypse Now than a dreamy farm. I'd rather share that part of my life in words (like the last post about Shearing Day Breakout) than in pictures. I keep reality to Twitter and this blog. I like the photographs I share to be a scrapbook of good memories. 

But here's the problem with that: We get comparison hangovers all the time from that exact choice. It gives people the illusion that someone's life is better than our own. I feel it all the time. I follow a couple hundred people on Instagram and recently deleted some of the more popular/weirdly commercial accounts I followed. Accounts like the perfect femme couple selling skin cream with promotion codes or backpacking dogs selling canine energy bars. Mostly because they are total strangers but more so because I want to know about the real mess behind the photo shoot. Sure, hand me your beautiful album but please tell me the story behind pictures. I need to know you're just as real. That you also are figuring it out every day and are terrified most of the time.

Do you see that picture of Friday and Mabel on the mountain in this post? Yes, it is so pretty. But here's the story behind it: Friday is currently in heat and has to wear a diaper inside so blood doesn't get all over the floor and bed. It's also why Gibson isn't in this picture.  He's not allowed to be around her unsupervised and I can't play chaperone and horse trainer at the same time. I'm not on Mabel because I got off her at the bottom of this little valley, near those bushes below in the picture. Why? Because she is so nervous being ridden without another horse on the trail it doesn't feel safe. She's jumpy so we take the ride in little steps, me getting on and off and her learning the safety and ease of a solo trail ride. I'm not confident to take her out all around the mountain alone like I do with Merlin because SHE isn't there yet. So what you see is a bitch in heat, a 1200lb scaredy cat, and a girl with enough bug bites to receive a benefit concert. 

I don't want anyone who reads this blog to think of my life as a perfect dream come true. I want people to be inspired to create their own imperfect dreams. Why? Because life is short and regret is forever. Because it's better to fail trying than drown comfortable and untested. Because you want it so bad it takes up space in your lungs and nags you at 3:32 on a Wednesday afternoon when you should be thinking about Steve's stupid PowerPoint presentation on email click-through rates but instead you are scrolling through breeds of draft horses under the table on Pinterest. Because you can't fucking help it.

Nothing feels better than a reader who found one of my books or blog telling me about closing a sale on their first farm, buying their first horse, getting their first egg from a backyard hen. That gives me such a rush!  It makes me feel less alone in the world. It matters so much you tell me those stories, but mostly because I want to matter to something besides these 6.5 acres.

And please know if you're reading this you're probably living a version of my dream life.

You know how you're paying the next month's bills? You're living my dream life.
You have a partner that loves you and cares about you? You're living my dream life.
You have health insurance? Savings? You're living my dream life.
You have more than 2 digits in your bank account right now? You're living my dream life.

None of this is a complaint. I chose this life and I truly adore it. Not having financial security in exchange for working from home and having this farm was a gamble I endeavored to roll. Being single is preferred to being in a relationship I would feel is settling or, more importantly, restrictive. Health insurance and savings are something I am working towards, but not there yet, again: my choice. And right now the reason I am so low in my account is because I just managed to catch up on old dental bills and some current work that was sorely needed and caught up on old electric bills. I'm broke because I'm staying afloat and able to chew.

So that's where I'm at. The best type of real love and real fear, free for you to witness online. And when you tell me it helps your own story, oh man, it's the drive I need to keep learning to be more resourceful, frugal, hardworking and true to my own dream.

My own imperfect, messy, horrific, perfect, beautiful dream.

Just keep going, all of us.

Sunday, June 10, 2018

The Best-Laid Plans

It was 7:45Am on Shearing Day and everything was going as planned. The sheep were penned and their location had extension cords at the ready. The chores were done early so Liz had my full attention and assistance grabbing and moving sheep. The check was laid out on the coffee table. The weather was gorgeous. Everything was perfect. What could possibly go wrong?

Liz pulled into the driveway right on schedule and I helped her carry the shearing board, her tool box, and the cords and gear needed for the work. I do what I can to help with professional when they come to the farm to help with skills I don't possess. I am right there with the butchers on kill dates, helping carry animals or unload meat hooks. I am with the farrier when he is trimming and shaping the horses feet, asking questions about their care and condition. And I am always with the shearer to ask her about the animals' overall health, body condition, and wool. Which was the exact plan when I opened the pen gate and Liz walked in with her board and me with the other gear.


Hannah the black sheep ran and leapt over the 4ft fence like a gazelle on poppers. Seeing this amazing feet, Joseph the 225lb wether tried to do the same and ended up just crashing onto the fence and crushing the woven wire, making a dip that any respectable sheep could traverse in a hop. It took about 5 seconds for the rest of the flock to be out like a hole in a bucket. The shearer gasped. I let out a four letter word of choice. We both watched them run far away from us towards the forest and back pasture.

My first thoughts were racing and angry. It has taken so long to actually book a traveling sheep shearer for a farm this small and I couldn't lose the appointment. It was already late in the season for shearing, something that is usually done in March or April. I had promoted sales and soap like mad on Twitter to raise up the money for the job. I set the appointment. I did all the things, and yet...

I have learned in moments like this not to panic or waste any energy on the problem, just start the first step of the solution. I told Liz I was sorry but I could get this all sorted, I just needed an hour or so. I told her to head down the road to Jon Katz's farm first and take care of his flock. (He was less than two miles away and also had her scheduled to shear.) While she did that I would herd the sheep back, get them into their pole barn, get the pen repaired and when she returned it would be smooth sailing towards Naked Sheep Island.

It took me, the dogs, a bucket of grain, some fence tools, a t-post pounder, baling twine, and a hammer and nails to get the job done but we got it done!

I will admit the trick I use when things go wrong, when problems need to be dealt with fast. I imagine myself swaying in the hammock at the end of the day, sipping a cold drink, reading my Kindle as the fireflies start to come out. I imagine the feeling of accomplishment of a big task like shearing day done, the box checked, the ewes shorn and ripping grass while Gibson, Friday, and I watch on. That is what I thought about as I gathered supplies and got to the messy work of battening down hatches.

I let the sheep graze and wander the farm as I repaired the broken area of fence first. Once that was sound again I cut a section of woven wire a little larger than the pole barn's door. I nailed it on one side and set the hammer and nails to the other for what I called "Action Time!" Then I got a large piece of chain link fence that was being used to plug another fence hole in the pasture and set that near the barn's door. Okay. I was ready for the dogs.

Friday and Gibson worked as a scrappy team getting Monday off the lawn and back into the pasture. Then they got Jessa and her little lamb to run into the pen, followed my Marnie and Hannah. Last to go into the pen by dog escort was Monday, Brick, and Joseph. Soon all six adults and one little lamb were in the pen. I told the dogs to lie down by the main gate and poured some grain into the barn. Soon all the sheep were inside ACTION TIME and I nailed the woven wire gate shut. Then I set the chain link section over that. HA HA! They were in.

Liz arrived with her daily schedule in tact. Swapping farm times was a lucky break, and I am grateful to Jon that he welcomed her earlier than planned. That's the kind of communication and neighborly goodwill we need around here to keep everyone sane.

It didn't take long to pull the sheep from the fortress one at a time. I warned Liz that Brick, being the oldest ewe of around 13 or 14, might be nothing but skin and bones under that wool. Feeling her back it felt boney. But she was plump and well and her eyes were pink under the lids. It is a really good feeling when the oldest sheep you have looks that chunky and bonnie. What a grand sight she was shorn! I'll post a pic of the old girl when I can grab one!

When shearing was done I invited Liz inside to discuss a possible logo for her business and to work out a barter for a possible new ram for next season. I wrote her the check for the day's work plus tip (always tip your hairdresser) and thanked her again for being flexible and so great with the sheep.  She headed back out on the road to shear at two farms back in Vermont.

So the day didn't go as planned but the work got done. When sunset fell and the evening chores were finished I did end up in that hammock. I did have a cold drink. I did read as the fireflies circled around me. This isn't always the case, but when it happens I sway with it.

Saturday, June 9, 2018

It's Shearing Day!!!

Friday, June 8, 2018

Town Love

I love this town. I really do. I landed here by chance and a thousand odd choices starting over a decade ago in nearby Vermont for a job. I bought this farm because it was in my price range, a short distance from work, and no one else seemed to want it. A single family home with one small bathroom, narrow stairs, crooked floors, and in need of a lot of love since its old owners had to leave. And here I landed.

I spent yesterday doing my usual errands around town: picking up feed at that hardware store, dropping off soap and art to mail at the post office, and stopping by neighboring farms for swapping equipment and stories. I spoke with bakers and cooks, brewers and shopkeepers, farmers and friends. And the day ended with a beer with friends at the brewery. (Side Note: Someone at the brewery asked if it was me rescuing a turtle on rt 372. It was not, but I would certainly stop to save a road turtle). This is my community and it is how the farm churns on. The people who share in my farm are all around. It's a fine way to start the day with gratitude and love.

Tuesday, June 5, 2018

Thank You


Every once in a while I will suggest you consider subscribing to this blog. It's entirely free to read the posts, see the pictures, and share the adventure. It always will be. But all authors, artists, musicians, and creators depend on the people who appreciate their work to be patrons on some level.

If you own my books, thank you. If you share my blog posts, thank you. If you have come to a workshop or event here, thank you. And if you simply want to kick in $5 a month towards feed and hay - I thank you. It's a small way to both encourage me and help keep the lights on.

Like NPR stations, I'll be here to tune into whether you wish to subscribe and be a patron or not. But I do ask if you enjoy what you read here and do not already subscribe - to consider it. Please only do so if you feel the writing has value (as entertainment, inspiration, etc) and you can manage it.

Thank you,

Want to make a one-time contribution?

For a monthly contribution to the blog and to be a regular patron:

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Claw Marks

It's been an interesting couple of days at the farm, to put it lightly. The kind of thing happened Friday morning that would make an amazing short story but I can't write about it here. Nothing sordid, just more a story for late nights around campfires and full glasses of wine among friends. Let's just say that when everything goes wrong in a day's plan (and I mean EVERYTHING) and then friends, luck, and hard work turn it all around for the better - it refills my tank of farm love. I don't know of another lifestyle that let's you fall so often and then lifts you up higher each time.

New farmers shouldn't be warned about this, they should be teased. It should be a selling point. Yes, you are going to have horrible, scary, and miserable days. Days where you spend hours with sore bodies, bleeding cuts, sunburn, nettle stings, and dogs panting so hard their tongues nearly touch the ground... But when you figure it out and recover with a hot shower and stiff drink the entire world becomes a sweeter and more understandable place. You feel strong in ways you could not imagine before pullets and pulled pork were part of your emotional inventory.

I felt so amazing after Friday's endeavors that I went for a ten-mile run Saturday morning. It was the most enjoyable thing I have done in weeks. The first hour was a little rough, but then my body turns into this animal that only wants to cover distance and breathe. This place makes me feel so strong. When you find that in the world you hold on so tight the air around you has claw marks.

In more mundane news: the coolant lines on the truck burst and it needs repairs. I'm hustling on social media, as always, to earn up the repairs.  It's always something, as you all know. We are all doing our best every day with the circumstances we're lotted. But besides truck repairs I am happy to report most things here are the good kind of problems: like working to earn and keep the thing I love. The type of stuff that requires grit and resourcefulness and honesty. I have a healthy body and a low rate rate. I have friends I adore and hold closer than moss on river stone. I have dogs that make every morning paradise.  I have enough coffee and time.

It's going to be an amazing summer.

Thursday, May 31, 2018


Max was like any other chick raised at this farm, at least when it comes to humble beginnings. She arrived in the mail in a box from Stromberg's Hatchery. Her breed is Ameracauna, which has fluffy cheek feathers and lays blue eggs. And like every other pullet in the brooding pen she ate her chicken chow, scratched in the dirt, drank from the little water fountain, and fell asleep at night in a feathery pile with all the other hens being raised as this year's new layers. Life was pretty good for Max. A free-range chicken on a small farm - poultry pot at the end of the rainbow.

Max wanted more. At some point when I was moving the pullet tractors to fresh grass she slid out and made a run for it. I wasn't worried. Gibson and Friday are dandy chickenherds and if all else failed she'd be back by her coop mates by nightfall, asleep outside the pen on the ground. This is what 99% of chickens do. They desire to be with other chickens. They are flock animals. Not Max.

Max has taken up residency with the pigs. She walked hundreds of yards with her tiny body and found the sounder. Think of what that means? It would be like you leaving everything you knew to join a herd of elephants - if the elephants were the size of Boeing 737s. But this is what Max wanted. Now she eats alongside pigs, sleeps with them at night, travels on their backs, and has made the pig paddock home. She can leave whenever she wants but chooses pig life. And I gotta say it suits her. She is larger and brighter than the cooped birds in the tractors. She glows golden in the sun. And even if she doesn't realize it - as long as the pigs don't eat her (so far they haven't) she's as safe from non-porcine predators as can be. No fox kit is going to leap electric netting and tussle with 200lbs animals for a 4oz snack.

Max isn't a conventional hen. She's kinda young and reckless. But she's out riding hogs in the forest while the other poults are in cages. I respect the hell out of this chicken. Max, may you prosper and thrive with your pig life!

Photo by Miriam Romais

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Writer Friends!

Summer is here. She really is. The days start bright and heat up into gloriously humid afternoons. Today on my short run I wanted to jump into the creek beside my mountain road, good gods I was so warm. It felt so good and I was so grateful. I will never complain about heat or humidity - not ever after this past winter. I'll take a world that feels like a sauna ANY DAY over -20° nights curled up by the fire with bursting pipes and not enough wool sweaters. Bring it on, Summer. I can't get enough of your business.

And the fireflies are back! At dusk they start to glimmer in the darkest spots in the trees, especially around the brook and well. I watch them and count them: two, five, twenty! The other night I played Blackest Crow for them on the fiddle. I practiced all day to get it right. It meant a lot to me that it was perfect for them.

Today was supposed to be shearing day but so far the sheep shearer has not shown up. I hope she is okay. The sheep are overdue to be shorn, as are the woolies on neighboring farms. It'll get done. Everything always gets done.

Speaking of getting done: I planted squash, tomatoes, and basil this week. In their own beds near the pasture on the other side of the fence. I still have pumpkins to plant, and I am happy to report the replanted Kailyard is doing well. Was just in that bit picking weeds and watering. The pigs watch me with their adopted pullet, Max. I'll share Max's story here soon!

I just had some friends I made online, fellow writers, stop by for the night as a rest during their road trip. Sarah and Emma came to meet me, the farm, the dogs, and Aya and the horses. We stayed up later talking dating, books, feelings and life. It was lovely. And in the morning we had scrambled eggs and toast and then I lead Merlin on a lead rope up the mountain while they took turns riding. To see the Battenkill Valley from horseback is special. It isn't the Wild West. It isn't the rolling moors of Cumbria. It's more like what a Hobbit would call home. Fitting for me.

Please note that I am VERY prolific on Twitter and Instagram. If you want pictures of the animals and the farm, follow me at @coldantlerjenna on Instagram. If you want far too many personal details about dating, pop-culture, and writing - Twitter is it where I am @coldantlerfarm

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

We Made It

It's some time around this exhaling part of wet spring that I nearly forget how to light the wood stove and shovel snow. The manic seasons of upstate New York are on the upswing, and days of sunny 72-degree weather are the normal now. If it isn't sunny and warm it's like today, a sigh of rain turning everything green again. The lawn is coming back, the pasture is rolling greener every day from the mud and hoof prints of winter, and even the stubborn locusts around the barn are starting to leaf. We made it.

Every day I wake up to sunlight that feels so young and excited about the world outside my window. I can hear Augustus the red rooster and the sounds of rustling new maple leaves. Those are my alarms. Once the house starts to stir the animals who all encircle the home itself in pasture and field - notice, and the neighs of horses and squawks of goslings pick up percussion to the woodwinds of weather and light. I try to remember the deep freeze of Winter's Bottom and it feels like a dark fairy tale from another world. If I retold it under the stars down at the train station brewery I am certain there would be a plodding mastodon in the tale as I carried in the last of the dry wood.

Life makes plenty of time to worry for you. But you have to decide when to stop everything and sink into the joy of warmth, sunshine, a gosling, a lamb, and the promise of thunderstorms and fireflies. I do believe I'll make time today to gather my fly fishing tackle. I can not wait to head into the river. 

Thursday, May 17, 2018


Mucking the barn by hand is never fun, but it is necessary and (bonus!) it's also a hell of a work out. It's does get complicated to partake in that workout a when three geese tending a nest have taken up residence in the corner of the barn. And in the exact spot where the barn's back door for easy-muck removal is located. So right now the chore is being held off in favor of mucking elsewhere. And for good reason because the geese are actually hatching some of their eggs! This morning I woke up to this little whipperhonker!

In some lighter news I am only one payment behind on the farm, as far as the mortgage goes and the lights are bright and shiny. I'm trying like mad to promote classes, logos, and illustrations on Twitter where I can reach the most people. If I can keep hitting my income goals there's a shot of not only being in the land of happy sighs of a solid roof-tree, but also some better night's sleeping.

I gotta say how helpful it is to run. I am running around 20-30 miles a week right now and it's become the best way to tire out anxiety and focus. While running I think of ideas, solve problems, and burn off the fears that might linger from a bad dream or email. As the days grow longer, hotter, and more humid (I ADORE humidity!) I hope my runs to do. If I can swing it I'll enter the Manchester Vermont Half Marathon again. It's for Make a Wish and while I don't run fast I did complete it back in 2016 and it felt amazing to accomplish it. And a goal keeps me running towards something. Always towards. What's the saying?

Don't look back. You're not going that way.

Monday, May 14, 2018

The Parting Glass

I leaned back against the three sinks, tired and light. I couldn’t stop smiling. From my vantage point behind the bar, towel over my shoulder, eyes and feet tired; I listened to the man with the guitar across the room. The man playing was named Gurt Morlix and it was the last song of the night, The Parting Glass. I was behind the bar because I was unofficially on staff of the brewery that night, helping wash dishes and clear patron’s glasses before and during the concert. As a regular at the brewery, who usually shows up with a border collie and felt hat, I was here tonight to work. Friends that bartend knew they would be busy and the usual help would be watching the concert or otherwise occupied, so I was there to be useful.

I loved it. I loved it so much. I loved being beside a friend. I loved washing the glasses. I loved hearing the stories and songs. I loved being under the high ceilings and chandeliers of the freight depot - a historic building in this farm town that once took locals to New York City every day back when the McClellan Family owned my entire mountain as a sheep pasture. But tonight I was here listening to a man who traveled and sang with Warren Zevon. It was time to listen.

I wish I could keep that moment forever. The lack of moonlight and the way the small parlor guitar and that man’s voice filled every space it could find. If honey was alive and kind, it was how he sounded - creeping into the grain exposed by wind and time. And I had this place behind the show - not able to afford a reserved table but free to help wash pints and clean up the tables outside. I have never felt luckier.

I stay on this farm because it’s what I know how to do and it makes me feel safe. I wake up every day with work I can not ignore, regardless of weather, health, or heart. I don’t know of any remedy for low-grade anxiety or depression that is stronger than this. To wake up and be needed - not loved, not known, not understood - but viscerally needed by over 50 animals means no sleeping in. It means needing to set aside fears and foes and get dressed and make sure everyone eats breakfast and is okay. It means caring about something above all else and then being able to consume it. Farming is the existential ouroboros of the mildly insane. Giddyup.

But it matters. It has made me transcend self. I’ve helped deliver lambs crying and heartbroken. I’ve helped with hog butchering in heat waves. I’ve planted and weeded and laughed. I walked through snow drifts with black dogs and raced up hillsides on the back of a black horse. I’m different person than the girl who didn’t know how to harness a horse or train a hawk. My lines are harder. My voice is softer. I’m more forgiving of mistakes. I’m less forgiving of unkindness.

I’m here still because of song and luck. I rode Merlin at a gallop yesterday morning with the bartender from the concert. We served and washed a bar together and then we were riding as fast as hooves would carry us a few days later. This is how you make friends - moments that stamp wax crests on envelopes - and when we were done with ale and bridles we sat in my sparse front lawn with a thick red wine and toasted new friendships and bad luck.

I’m still here because I get these songs and stories. I’m still here because I know my neighbors and their dogs. I’m still here because when you find a place so perfect and bold that you can pant as you turn around three times before you lie down that it just makes sense…

Home is learning who you are. Here I am.

Good News!

This morning while Mabel was walking down the hill for her breakfast I was watching her back feet. When I bought the mare I was told she had issues with arthritis and was getting injections and special supplements to deal with it. I was also warned that I may not ever ride her much over a light trot, depending on her condition. That was almost a year ago and Sunday morning she was racing beside Merlin at a full gallop. She stopped limping three days after she lived here. She has been off special supplements for months. This isn't because I'm a horse health magical healer, but because (I think) that she went from stall life with some turnout in a paddock to living on a 3-acre hilly field. Now she has full mobility and runs with Merlin all the time in the pasture, but Sunday morning she was ridden for the first time at length out on the trail and I wanted to make sure there was no hitch in her giddy up. Happy to report she is sound as music!

After feeding the horses I walked up to the sheep and goats sharing a pen on the hill. The reason for this cohabitation? The goat's pen has been demolished and is right now a giant pile of manure that needs to be moved via tractor I'm hiring before it is rebuilt. So for now the does and Rocco the buck are with the sheep in their large hillside pen. Everyone seems to be getting along, but what I didn't expect to see was the new addition! Jessa the ewe had a ram lamb! Look at that little muppet!

These are two great pieces of news: a sound mare and new lamb. This weekend has been up and down with troubles* and triumphs, but for now let's enjoy a happy horse and baby. And another cup of coffee for the farmer with three eggs in her pocket.

* Troubles meaning that a bobcat (the farm machinery not the animal) got stuck in the goat pen and had to be pulled out with a truck. The kailyard I planted also go destroyed by the skidding/stuck/struggling bobcat. Also, a twisted ankle. 

Wednesday, May 9, 2018


I am spending more and more time outside. With the sun shining bright outside and temperatures in the mid seventies it feels wonderful being out in the dirt! Today I got cauliflower and snap peas planted and borrowed a friend's power washer to clean off the house siding. These are small things, but acts of home care and longevity I feel good about. Happy to report the place looks a little spiffier than it did just a few days ago.

Also wanted to add that if any of you have considered purchasing a logo design or pet illustration, this is a great time to do it. The amount of resources that went into getting the power back on was a huge hit to the budget so I am trying not to fall more behind and get things straightened out soon as possible. Happy to offer deals, discounts on classes or lessons, extra sketches. Whatever I can offer from this farming skill set is on the table.  I offer one-on-one fiddle and archery workshops, too. You can sign up by yourself or with a friend/spouse/child for discounts.

Tuesday, May 8, 2018

Walkmans in Church

"Do you have a cassette player? Besides the one in your truck?" was the message waiting in my email when I came inside the farmhouse yesterday evening. I had to stop and think for a minute. I was flustered from carrying buckets of water up the hill to the lambs. My mind was still outside in that ritual world of evening chores. I turned around because I had a Sony Walkman right behind me on the coffee table. Inside it was the same NEWSIES soundtrack I listened to in High School. The cassette had been moved ceremoniously from every car I had owned - one glove compartment to the next for nearly two decades. It was more of a luck piece than anything else at this point, but recently I had dug it up to sing Santa Fe to the goats during morning grain. I replied to my friend Patty that I did have one and I could bring it over next time I was at her farm.

This morning broke with sun so saffron my bedroom seemed to have a retro filter on it. I stretched and hugged my dogs, beside me in our double bed and eager to start the day. Gibson was at the window in no time, checking on the hen and rooster strutting by the front door. Friday stretched with me and took up the space he left her, absolute luxury.

The morning chores were better than usual. The sun was warm but the air mild—around 45 degrees—and in a long-sleeved cotton shirt I felt perfectly guarded from the slight chill. With a podcast in my ears I went about the same old story of hay, grain, water, and checking on the animals. Chicks needed their water fonts cleaned and tractors moved. The pigs needed their water trough dumped and scrubbed before refilling. The horses needed fly spray and I took note that they are due for spring worming. I emailed the shearer again, eager to have the sheep shorn. The work that was once thrilling but is now a warm ember inside me. I can't imagine not being needed this way first thing in the morning by something I need just as much. You can get drunk on it if you don't temper it with coffee.

A lot of coffee.

The rest of the morning was spent indoors. The usual to-do list of promoting the skills I have to offer, preparing books for the mail, packaging soaps, and getting artwork completed and in mailers for customers. I made one sale (two short of the day's goal) but knew I had plenty of time to get where I needed to be by dark. One sale is still money coming into the farm. That's something, a step up hill.

I changed into running clothes and got a quick four miles in. The run helped. The music carried me across the now-lush landscape of Washington County. I'm still getting used to all the green. Every year it's a shock how alive the place becomes after such a long winter. That was a gratitude I didn't have to fight to absorb.

After the run I enjoyed a hot shower and got dressed for town. My usual stops of the hardware store, the post office, and gas station were done in quick order. Friday was with me. She hung her head out the window and with her eyes closed took in the day the way I did on my run.

Did I ever tell you that when I stop what I'm doing, any time of day, and howl she howls with me? It might be my favorite thing about the little monster.

Next was the farm work I was most looking forward to that day: the kailyard. I had bought twenty dollars worth of starts (48 plants) with money made from selling goatsmilk soap. Today I'd use the goat compost (a year old) and hand tools to work in the earth and create rows for planting the greens. This was done in the mid afternoon and I felt that sun go from warm to hot as I worked with pitchfork and hoe. The dogs were with me, running around and digging in the garden beside me. They are whimsical and erratic landscapers going through their hole period. It wasn't much help but they stayed out of the way of the sharp points of tools and that was enough for me. I got to wear shorts and a tank top too grubby for civilization and get a bit of a tan.

This was a full day for me. Work indoors, in town, and on farm. I wanted a quick ride with Merlin before the work of evening chores and the soapmaking I had yet to do. So I grabbed my pony's halter and lead rope and collected him from the pasture. If there is one reason above the rest that I am still on this farm - it is this. To walk outside the place I work and use the skills of tacking up and be on the back of a galloping animal fifteen minutes later. To do all that as comfortably as if I had just started my truck- this is wealth beyond measure to me. Struggling here is a song. Sometimes it's lovely and sometimes it's playing jazz in the dark... Like last week.

As we rode I listened to the new song Hunger by Florence and the Machine. Merlin ran and the song crested and I felt like the day was just getting started. Sometimes I can't help but laugh when he really gets going. Not because it's funny, but because this is my Tuesday afternoon. It took so long to get here - and keeping it is a thousand times harder - but no one could take that moment from me. I asked him to go faster and he did and that is mine forever.

The day ended over at Patty's farm. She invited me over to visit for drinks and catching up. Before I headed out the door I remembered the Walkman. It turned out that her husband Mark had found old tapes of his brother's piano playing. The master pianist passed away a long time ago and this would be the first time Mark had heard those songs since his brother was alive. Patty used a Bluetooth speaker by jacking into the old tech with the headphone port.

It felt so personal and beautiful that I slipped away, wanting to let this moment be theirs. As the first soft chords played by a ghost I walked into their old threshing barn. I could hear the music from across the pasture, filling the old space like a whisper in a church. It wasn't my music to hear but I stole some for a moment. Good god, what a day this was.

It was a week ago that the power was shut off and I was alone in the dark. I got through that and now the next thing is on the list becomes the new fight - another mortgage payment, another bill, another day of constantly trying to harness a life of fast horses on Tuesday afternoons.

Maybe some day this will get easier? I'm not sure if I'm built for easy. But I am here for ghosts in old barns, red shoulders, and the straining of my eyes at a dark copse of trees for the first fireflies. They'll come back soon. But I want to see them the way I want to be held at night - not because I need to be, but because my tiny world is better for it.

I'm going to keep writing about these fears and this trying. Please keep reading.

Plants In!

The sun is shining and the kailyard planting has begun! I got 48 starts in the ground. They are planted, watered, fenced and blessed with my own sweat. The starts are from Stannard Farm, paid for by selling the soaps I make myself from the goats watching me hoe and pile. I set those babies into cake-like black soil thanks to the mucking of last summer's goat bedding. What a lovely dance - goat manure and milk being the reason I get an amazing salad or spinach quiche in a few weeks!

Monday, May 7, 2018

Mother's Day is Coming!

If you are looking for a pet portrait, a logo, graphic design work (not web design), or would like to gift any of these to Mom for Mother's Day, I am running a sale now on all of them! I can't get you a drawing in time for the weekend, but you can get a pdf to print out that your mom or friend can redeem for a custom drawing of their favorite pet or animal! Just email me at

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Kailyard and Considerations

The work of this week on the farm will be all about plants. Some of it truly enjoyable: like planting the first starts and seeds in the kailyard. And some of it backbreaking: removing old straw bedding from the barn with a pitchfork. As a one-woman operation I have learned to stop seeing these chores as all or nothing. I don't have to spend 5 hours forking muck and old bedding. I don't have to spend an entire raining Saturday moving compost and hoeing earth. I can get the same results in a week by doing an hour's worth of the task a day, which leaves time for my part time job and the freelance I do here at the farm. Today in the rain I'll muck for an hour. I'll get some starts from the farm stand down the road to plant tomorrow.

This morning is the Poultry Swap, which I am not attending. I don't feel well, but also don't think I can handle the temptation of the new animals/ideas I might get. Right now what I need to do is stabilize and possibly downsize. I am considering selling some animals and scaling down the farm or phasing out of certain endeavors. Things are in survival mode right now, trying to keep the simple joys going that kept me here without the added stress. I know a horse, hawk, and dog will always be with me if I can help it. They are the reason I feel alive on soft dirt.

Lots of decisions to make this spring. And lots of good work to do while I come to them.

Friday, May 4, 2018

Next Adventures

It's raining after two lovely warm days. If it wasn't I'd be out finishing what I started yesterday in the kailyard. I raked and cultivated with a wheel hoe, preparing the earth to be composted and turned again before I create rows and start planting. That felt as good as I remembered, being sweaty out in the garden. The pigs watched me as I plowed through, and I could see the laying hen chicks biting and the few blades of grass that have arrived on the mountain so far. They were all experiencing the outdoors for the first time in a small tractor I use for "hardening off" young poultry. The lambs on the hill were bleating for more grain, the horses tails swishing in the sun, and the goats were having a head-butting competition that Ida was winning. It was a good day. The last few have been really good.

When I started this blog it was a fever dream. All of the writing was based on passion; this love affair with farming and the dream to pursue it full time. Over the years that, amazingly, has happened and what was once an outlet for energy has become a lovely habit. Writing is something I don't think I'll ever stop doing, and as long as people want to read this blog I'll keep at it.

Now, at 35, ten years after those first blog posts I wake up to the daily reality of keeping that dream fed. I'm happy for it, and proud of the determination and discipline it's forged inside me. Every weekday is a list of clients, meetings, deadlines, illustrations, design, and income goals. It is rare that everything on those to-do lists (a notebook I call The Boss) isn't handled and checked off. Every day I am accountable to that book and the work inside it. And every day I need to use social media to promote the skills I have to offer in hopes some of you take me up on it.

Things have changed in how I live and work on this farm. I realized that I wanted this place to be where I grow food for myself and for neighbors and friends. That keeps my customers close and their numbers small. I don't think I ever want to be responsible for feeding a village, or making the farm my entire focus. I adore the time I spend drawing animals as well as caring for them. The design work I spent 4 years getting a BFA in paid off, and also helps keeps those lights on (most of the time). This winter I started taking on part time work with a local marketing firm to supplement the farm/freelance income. Some weeks they have 2 hours of work for me, sometimes they have 10, but everything helps. Still, it's never going to be easy. Days like Monday remind me of that.

But even if things won't ever be easy, I can get better at them. That's the next adventure.

Tuesday, May 1, 2018


The farm's power is back on! The electric company left here a bit ago, and everything from the hot water to twinkle lights in the living room are back in order. It's also the first sunny day in a long stretch and it feels like the whole dang county is as relieved as I am to have the light back.

I am catching up on the lost day of work at home - both freelance design and artwork - but am happy to report that an entire day of going to and from the laundromat (which has free wifi) has rendered every towel, sheet, and bathmat in this house washed. On a rainy Monday in Veryork that little car wash/laundromat in town was a lifesaver. A place to go to email clients, report that the farm was down, and contact friends and neighbors for things like hay delivery, bakery pick ups, and such.

I'll write more about the whole day - from backup chargers in the truck to doing business from a landline and $29 Amazon Fire Tablet (both were lifesavers) later on. But right now I want to thank all the kind emails, tweets, and support sent out when I was in a real panic. It feels very alone here at 10PM in the dark. Having people online check in made me feel safe.

The power has never been turned off here before and won't again. It was a disaster - phone calls, paperwork, banking over the phone (thank goodness for landlines that do not need power to work) everything was slowed down or halted. Anyway - more soon and more farm updates as the week and warm weather progresses! Lots of spring cleaning indoors and out to come. Lots!

Monday, April 30, 2018


The electric company shut off the power. Electric fences are all down, freezers down, no water, no internet (I'm at laundromat Wi-Fi in town on my kindle). I am terrified. I want to curl into bed and give up and that is exactly what I can't do. It'll be very dark in a few hours.

update: thanks to sales driven through Twitter things are looking up! Going to arrange something with the power company soon as I get back to the farm. All hail landlines!

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Let's Go

It's a soggy and muddy morning here at the farm. Gibson is beside me, his wet fur damping my hip as I sit on the living-room floor in front of the computer to write. I like the smell of wet dog, always have. It's comforting and homey. The coffee is perking post-chores and I am very excited to grasp an oversized mug and partake. Nothing else warms you from the inside out in weather like this than a good drink and outside work behind you.

Things at the farm are moving optimistically forward. There are now four happy lambs here, and possibly more on the way. I've contacted the shearer to come for his annual visit and have a butcher to call soon as well for a pig or two. The sound of chirping chicks is background percussion of this blog post. The brooder here in the living room is life and noise indoors.

Outside the house Aya Cash is molting like mad and dropping more and more feather's every day. The goats are shedding their winter undercoats and (hopefully) pregnant and showing soon. I am running a lot, my therapy and anxiety-fighting activity of choice. I am up to about 20-30 miles a week and it feels good to have a body that can do that for me. I'm grateful for her. There's a barrage of water out there now and even snow in the forecast for tonight - but by Wednesday it might reach 80° and I beyond excited for that! Till then I'm trying to keep up with the quickly-mounting list of spring chores as more babies arrive and the gardens begin demanding their good work. Even an operation as small as this requires my everything.

Everything. What a word.

This farm is what I wake up and live for. It's not just my home, but my entire empire of passions.  One address that holds a woman's hope and force. This farm is where I write, design, and draw. It's where I hunt, ride, run, explore, and grow. It's where I learned to saddle a trail horse, train a hawk, herd sheep with dogs, and butcher my own chickens for Sunday roasts. It's nourishment for hand, heart, and head.

But it is also the source of all my anxiety and fears. There's no safety net here and I am dealing with the realities of not selling another book anytime soon. Luckily I am taking on as much freelance work as possible, and hopefully word of mouth will spread the logo and illustration sales that help support the farm work here. The encouraging part is even when things are like they are now, I have managed to keep just ahead of the wolves at the door. Making a mortgage payment (albeit a late one) every month but regular payments tell the bank you're not going anywhere. I cast new grass seed in the lawn, an borrowing a power washer for the house's siding. I want to stay here as long as I can with the animals and life I built.

This is not a complaint. It's my choice. No one ever said it would be easy, or get easier. But here's what does accumulate naturally: my self confidence. I am nothing like the girl who bought a black pony. Creating and keeping this place has sculpted a woman who is proud of her work and home - however humble. I'm not done telling this story or unearthing the resourcefulness that keeps it afloat. I owe it to me, to the dogs, to the three new lambs I just bartered for, to the bank, to you.

If I can keep going so can you. So let's go!

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

New Kids!

Three new lambs arrived today! Meet the new guys, bought in for fall meat customers. They are Romnies from a local farmer and I am so pleased with them! It was pouring this morning, but by noon the rain pulled back and made the walk to the lamb pen up the hill only mildly muddy (only fell down once!) And those guys are in the lamb pen with Benjen the goat. Bette is still inside, being too small to stay in the fence and still on the bottle - but that Winter's Bottom Kid is finally all grown up outside with the other kids. Err, lambs!

Monday, April 23, 2018

Horse Power

I am checking back in to talk a bit about driving over at Patty's farm, and a lot about Mabel. First off, I need to express how wonderful it felt to drive two tons of horse at the end of thick leather lines under a bright spring sun. To be outside! To be with friends! To have defeated winter and be holding this accumulation of horse power in my hands! Hoo!

And by Horsepower I mean the two harnessed Percherons at the end of the lines, but I also mean the half decade of riding and horse stories I have piled into my heart. I was the girl scared to move at a trot on a horse's back outside a ring with an instructor and a helmet. Now I am this woman asking two horses she knows by name to whoa after trotting across a field with nothing holding them back but 182lbs of farmer. The power you get from these animals is the confidence. I am so much stronger than the girl who was scared to trot indoors.

Now, for miss Mabel. This girl has been nothing but a delight since she arrived last summer. I bought her for a dollar off of a sweet woman in Saragota who realized this half Belgian wasn't the right fit for her. She is no beginner's mount and would have scared the white from my eyes if she was my first horse. Mabel is strong, fast, and a bit jumpy. She's leader of the pack and a force to be reckoned with in the pasture. Every sheep, songbird, chicken, and groundhog knows she's in charge.

Yesterday I took that same strong lady out for some extended grooming and tacking up. I wanted to go on a quiet trail ride with her alone. I was thinking just a mile at a walk, something light and fun. But five minutes into that walk the nieghbor's granddaughter was with her friend on a fast golf cart with a running German Shepherd! Mabel was freaked out, to but it likely, and tried to run home.

I remained calm. I kept her still. She didn't bolt, buck, or rear but she did crow hop and snort. She wanted that horse-eating golf cart out of her sight. The girls stopped the cart and I asked them if I could walk Mabel over to inspect it, see it was okay? They obliged and soon me, Mabel, the dog, the girls, and the cart were fast friends. I was proud of both of us ladies - horse and human alike - for making it a successful ride even if it was cut short. We faced a problem and solved it.

And our tank gained a little more horsepower.

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Learning To Teamster!

Had my first ever experience harnessing and ground-driving a team of horses today! My friend Patty Wesner got a second Percheron, a mare named Ruby. She's a stunning black beauty and calm and true. I learned to drive horses thanks to Patty and Steele, her gray gelding. When she invited me to help learn to harness and drive I was excited, but cautious. I am confident on the back of a horse where I feel in control, but driving has always been the scarier mode of transportation to me. It only feels safer when things are going well, but a runaway cart with a spooked horse (especially on a road with cars) is a crap shoot of terror unless the horse is rock solid. If something goes wrong on a ride I am 4 feet off the ground. If something goes wrong in a carriage - I'm possibly on the last hell ride to my demise into a semi truck. Let's drive horses!

More tomorrow on this adventure! 

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Chirps and Mountain Views

I got an email from my neighbors this morning. A wonderful couple who just returned from their winter migration in Georgia. With them came the sunshine (which they said they were happy to bring with them as a gift) and as we made plans for trading eggs for bread we shared stories from the winter. One of them would be stopping by in a minute to pick up eggs. I said sure, stop on by and don't mind the wee goat. 

When she stopped by to barter she pet little Bette Midler as the lamb scuttled around her legs. We chatted, talked the cold and the distance. It was nice.

It wasn't until she left for her errands in town that let out this exhalation of relief. I remembered saying goodbye to them at the start of winter. I told them I would see them when they came back to the mountain and to have a wonderful respite down south. But when I said that there was real fear in my voice. I had no idea if I'd still be on the farm in come the spring. I intended to, but intentions are worth the air you speak them into.

But I made it. I'm here. And not only did I get through that winter with the bottom of -20 degree nights and burst pipes - I managed to keep the farm and my wits through it all. Thanks, of course, to the readers that supported me through sales and scary times. And also through the power of this community - farmers, plumbers, firewood deliverers, feed sellers, friends, and plenty of podcasts. I felt lucky and grateful. I smiled after that sigh. The sun was shining and this was something to celebrate.

I had gone for a run earlier in the morning. A nice 10K; six rolling miles of farm and field. My area of Jackson, NY (just north of the town of Cambridge) was so excited for the sunshine. I ran past butterflies and chattering squirrels, past crows and redtails, and even (I swear to you!) a boy painting a white picket fence. With the vitamin D from above and music in my ears I allowed myself to feel safe for a while.

I allowed myself the permission to be proud of a morning of chores and miles, of the new delivery of baby chicks to the farmhouse this week (Thanks to Strombergs!) and the tuned fiddle by the kitchen door. These are small things and moments - but they shape the season's turning.

After the run I changed and took Merlin out for a ride. He was feeling his oats because it took ten minutes to catch him out in the field! Mabel watched, standing still, as Merlin and I paced around her. But after his initial hissy fit I slid the halter on and promised him just a nice walk in the woods.

We rode up to the top of the mountain. I took in the view of the gray trees without leaves, the brown earth just starting to look green again. Would we be here for the summer?

Even at a walk he was huffing, so we took it slow. As someone who just hours earlier was ready to throw up around mile 5, heading uphill along a highway, I could understand. He found his air and I found my seat and we even trotted a little. It felt amazing to be back in the saddle, back on the horse that taught me to love riding and feel at home on a pony's back.

As we headed down the mountain I had to remind myself of some lucky things:

You have a body that you take care of and takes care of you. You have a farm that you take care of, and takes care of you. You have kind neighbors, a promise of warm sourdough bread in the morning, a date with friends tomorrow, and the sun is shining. As easy as it is to get caught up in the fear of the keeping, there is the joy in the having. And if I don't stop on the back of a dark horse and recognize that I may forget.

Luceo Non Uro.