Woke up earlier than usual. I think the stress and excitement sped up my metabolism and my body couldn't handle being horizontal anymore. I found myself outside in a light snowfall, moving hay bales off the back of the truck. It was dark. The only light came from my lantern and the glow from the dim garage bulb. Snow was falling in front of it, making it flicker. It was 5 AM and the world was quiet, but the farm was not. I could hear the sheep bawling for morning hay. The roosters moaned. I sang the words to Pretty Saro as I pulled hay from the back bed. While the rest of the nation is sleeping, and the forest is quiet–a farm is alive.
I felt like I was the only member of a secret society. I felt like I belonged. It's why I farm.
The blog of author Jenna Woginrich of Cold Antler Farm. Jenna is a 32-year old full time writer. She writes about her adventures following her dream life as a homesteader, archer, falconer, equestrian, hunter, spinner, and low-rent cook. Follow along, it never gets boring!