Some time between packaging up the wool for CSA subscribers, and emailing back and forth with the Scottish Blackface breeder: this small acreage turned into a working farm. My entire mind shifting into accepting it, and shifted fast. Like a 50-pound bag of feed flopping over in the back seat of your car on a sharp-turn: the state of things changed. That simple. That fast.
Years in the making, months of hard work, days of panic and worry, and hours of prayer. This is my farm. You can argue with that, but you'd be punching underwater.