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.

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Lambs and Chicks

I am fighting this glum weather with sunny plans and music. I have my fiddle out and set beside my computer's work station. Every so often I pick it up and play a tune. I can't stress enough how much better I feel when I make time in my work day to drink a lot of water, exercise, and play music. It doesn't have to be gallons, miles, and hours of songs. A few glasses, a nice walk, a tune on the fiddle and I'm a better, healthier, kinder me.

New chicks will be delivered via post soon, probably tomorrow morning! I'll head down to the post office with the dogs and use the trip to mail out some soap as well, checking two items off my to do list with a grin.

I'm very excited, guys! New chicks lift up the entire mood of this farmhouse! Their songs remind me that while yes—it is still gray and snowing here in Veryork—by the time these birds are ready to move outside there will be green grass and sunshine. I can't wait for that boost. And like seedlings planted, or gardens plans drawn, these little steps towards production are in motion. And those steps are what turn a house into a farm. If you are using the land you occupy to grow food for yourself and others, congrats, you're farming. Welcome to the club.

In more cloudy news: I am getting suspicious that the other two ewes I am hoping will lamb, won't. This means buying in lambs like I did last year. I like the local Romneys available (like the ones pictures from last year) but would rather sell animals born here than ones I had to buy in. So fingers crossed for more lambs, kids, flowing milk, and wool in the next few weeks. In the meantime - I'm focusing on the work that pays the bills these days - design and illustration, as well as farm plans like dairy, eggs, lamb shares, and shorn beasties.

Monday, April 16, 2018

Bad Rain & Good News!

The wind outside is intense. Angry weather is roaring through the valley and even with the protection of the mountain some trees are down in the forest and large limbs have fallen near the driveway. Every few hours I head outside with the dogs to check on the horses and the flock, the sounder and goats, the poultry and hawk, and start the truck in the race against a possibly-damp distributor cap.

So outside is a howling mess but inside is a kinder, quieter, mess. Right now Bette the lamb is curled up by the wood stove, a defrosted quail beside her for Aya Cash's dinner. The dogs are close to me, curled up as well. I'm already feeling worn down from the day's client list and phone appointments; but generally optimistic. Here's why!

Good news! The weekend was a success and I was able to mail a mortgage payment this morning! This is the uphill clawing needed to catch up, and I will hopefully mail another this month to be even safer. Between this and a phone call this AM with some questions about taxes I had with my accountant - a HUGE sigh of relief was exhaled. May this weekend hopefully keep me (fingers crossed) ahead of any danger to my home.

More updates soon. Let's all pray no lambs feel the need to be born in the slurry outside!

Friday, April 13, 2018

Keep On!

My goal is to make enough money this weekend to mail a mortgage payment to keep the farm solvent and safely mine, even though it is behind. The 15th of the month is my cut off, and while I've been able to send in a house payment every month - it hasn't been enough to catch up. I'm trying to earn that through the work and skills I have to offer and in spring that means selling soap, classes, logos, and pet portraits.

So if you want to support this scrappy farm - now is the time! Logos, illustrations, classes, soaps! I can also offer signed books in bundles with soap orders, speaking events, dulcimer classes, fiddle lessons, etc! Email me at

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Digging Up The Positive

The farm is slowly thawing, with tiny shoots of green just starting to hint at their occupation. When you live halfway up the eastern slope of a mountain daylight is scarce, especially this time of year. If there's cloud cover it feels like sunset starts around 5PM as the sun starts to head west and shade the farm.  But this morning the sun was shining and there wasn't frost like yesterday morning. In bed I heard birds singing outside as I started to come to. It feels like change, I hope for the warmth promised by experience and rotation - more and more the older I get.

Last night I was visiting friends to use their washing machine and their farm was already starting to look green, out in the open fields that all face to the west. It's an odd feeling to be jealous of geographical placement, but there I was. I was grateful to use their machine, and for the clean sheets and towels, but coming home to the farm last night was hard. Panic is washing over me, and I wrote about it in more detail and then deleted the post. I don't know what good comes of focusing on the negative. Every day I wake up with a farm of animals that need to be fed, with a list of clients to address, with soap to make, packages to mail, and besides promoting what the farm has to offer - all I can do is the work itself and be calm and certain things will eventually get easier. And I need to remind myself that they are getting easier, day by day.

Keep digging out. Be patient with how dirty and tired you get trying. Be kind to yourself. 

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Spring Flirting

Morning chores are behind me and the dogs are eating their breakfast of warm rice, a cracked raw egg, and kibble. I'm on my second cup of coffee and planning the day. We're in this shoulder season before true spring and it's like flirting.

While feeding the animals I was breaking  ice from water stations and crunching on frost across the dead lawn, but by mid afternoon I'll be out in the sunshine on my run convinced river swims are moments away. The whole thing is confusing and I like it. I should be heating the house more but I'm not. It seems like the fire times are behind me. I should be outside preparing for new life; lambs, seeds, chicks, and clean lawns. I raked up winter hay scattered around the yard for an hour yesterday. All I accomplished was making brown earth with snow clods on it less hay-scattered but green stuff will come. Ya gotta have faith.

I'm still waiting on two ewes to lamb. I have kids (I hope!) on the way as well. Spring butcher dates to arrange, banjo strings to tune, seeds to start, and brooders to clean. The weather is cold enough to allow me to hesitate on those things. But I am certain in the coming weekends there will be chicks at the post office and pitchforks of compost filling beds just waiting for cold-season crops.

Right now I am enjoying daily soap making, thanks to the goats of Northern Spy Farm in Vermont. My friends Dona and Brad let me pick up milk when I need it since they already freshened their Nubians and my freezer stash from my Alpines has dried up. The soap pictured above is a new experiment: bar soap! It's made with milk, coconut oil, olive oil, lye, honey, honeycomb, and oven-dried and ground spent grains from the local brewery's maple porter. It makes a scentless, exfoliating, soap of local goods. In my Norse animal mold it is just lovely. Already sold six bars on Twitter last night!

Follow me on Twitter if you want to hear about dating life, pop culture, and see more pics of the animals and farm. Right now I am keeping that part of my life off this blog but happy to share in that more casual space. 

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Escapes and Teamwork!

I'm just back from a trip down my mountain road in search of escaped ewes. Spring means breakouts here, and I was in the shower when the alarms sounded. The system works like this: Ewes of young, athletic, ability leap or crawl under downed fences from winter windfall. Older sheep like Joseph, Brick, or Monday don't feel like exploring but still feel left out. Joseph is attached to the ladies and lets out a bawling baa that everyone in this house knows that something is up. I was halfway through moisturizing in the steamy bathroom when the dogs exploded with barks about Joseph's complaints. Goodbye self care, hello herding.

We got into the truck, me barely together with wet hair and blotchy skin from the hot water. A quarter-mile down the road I could see the fluffy sheep up in the forest, heading for the road. I pulled over and the dogs ran down into the forest, leaping across the stream, and ran up the mountain after the flock. It took moments for the woolies to turn on their heels and I shouted praises to Team Cold Antler!

The flock is back and my afternoon will include at least an hour of fence repair, looks like. Not the most fun way to spend a morning that isn't snowing or raining, but I couldn't be more proud of the dogs. They live like kings and work like dogs.

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Get Me Going

As I'm typing an April snowfall is happening outside the window. The farm is sated from evening chores, the house is somewhat orderly, and my to-do list is checked off. So there is this feeling of low-bar accomplishment and determination. I got through this mud season day. I got the work done, the animal's settled, the place warmed up. What is left of a day fire is turning to coals in the stove and I am planning my first order of meat birds for spring. But in this snowfall, in this spring prep, I am thinking about summer. About how good it will feel to be sunburnt and bug bitten. About how great the sweat will feel and weeding before a thunderstorm will be. It's enough to get me going, I guess.

Sunday, April 1, 2018

Hot Shower, Clean Sheets, Fresh Coffee.

I was thrilled to find the seven eggs in the barn, tucked into corners and old rabbit nesting boxes. They were blue, green, and brown - my Easter egg hunt of the day. After weeks of snow and storms the hens were finally laying again and what a bounty! I slid them into my pockets with a grin before continuing my water rounds from the goat pen to the pigs. Or, where I hoped the pigs would be...

I just wanted those pigs to be minding their fence, which I rewired yesterday after I noticed three had escapade and were loose all over the farm. Thanks to Gibson and Friday they were back in their paddock in no time and busy with dinner grains - good dogs like those two make all the difference on this One Woman Farm. Second stroke of luck this morning: the pigs were exactly where they were supposed to be, thank Frey.

As I carried the buckets to the four black porkers (growing too slow for my taste if you'll allow the side comment) I thought of the possibility of baking some kind of mini soufflé later, thanks to my recent egg surplus. A complimentary dessert to my Sunday dinner thanks to the hens. I already had a big braided loaf in the oven, the kind that was boiled first and brushed with oil and sea salt before baking. I had defrosted a small ham steak for dinner and some goat cheese from last summer. The idea of a meal from these hands: fresh bread, my farm's meat and goat cheese, and a dessert of whipped eggs felt good enough to make my mouth water. Not a bad meal for a gal with two low digits in her bank account till she makes some sales. There are many ways to be rich.

I came inside and decided to spend the holiday with some self care. One of my favorite indulgences is a long, hot shower. I scrubbed myself down with the goats milk soap I made, another gift of the land. Another way to feel wealth. I felt my sore thighs, trying to be gentle with them as I washed. I noticed all the black and blue marks, the scratches, the scars. A farm woman is a range animal, for certain.

I wasn't upset at the sight of those flaws at all. Yesterday those legs carried my hobbit frame across eight miles of landscape, a truly great run in the sunshine! I ran to the town of Shushan and back! I came home to a strength workout followed by my first ride of the spring on Merlin (after I herded pigs). We weren't out long but I laughed as my thighs stung on his back. I was too happy to feel a gallop under me for the first time in ages.

I continued the Self Care Sunday with changing my sheets, something I do every time I shower and a mug of hot coffee. I hope I never get to a point in life where a hot shower, clean sheets, and a fresh cup of coffee isn't enough.

In other news: Bette the lamb is happy and healthy. Benjen the goat buckling is still sleeping indoors with us at night, but outside all day doing goat things. No new lambs yet, and I hope for two more at least - but I have the name of a local guy selling out his flock and hope to get some lambs from him at discount to raise for the customers I have. The promise of that shepherding work is good enough to make me feel like the farmer I intended to be.

I need a rooster, if you can believe it. This farm is oddly silent in the mornings. Falkor the Silkie rooster doesn't crow alone and he only minds the three hens in his care. I may have a lead on Craigslist, but I sent out the call for a mature rooster on Twitter as well. Here's hoping the word gets out.

The rest of my Sunday will include practicing Whiskey Before Breakfast on the fiddle, and possibly harnessing up Merlin in his collar and lines for some ground driving. I am trying to stay put and enjoy the food, activities, and goodness of this farm today without interruption of errands or off-farm adventures. This place is everything I worked to have and fight to keep. It gets all of me today.

Support Welcome! If you ever want to pitch in for hay/feed or just general morale support or writing contribution you can do so at: If you don't, that's fine too.

Easter Wishes!

To those of you who celebrate Easter or Passover, enjoy this day! This farm is celebrating in a small way by baking some braided bread and defrosting goat cheese for a delightful meal. I am grateful for the stored flour, yeast, salt, and cheese. Planning ahead for tough times and ensuring full bellies on a sunny day before hens are laying or gardens can be planted. I am not Christian but feel a day of rest that celebrates the work of hands and animals on a small homestead is festive enough to warrant some restful downtime. I hope your Sunday is relaxing and spent with family and friends that bring you nothing but kind and grateful feelings of Spring!

Friday, March 30, 2018

Bring On The Mud and Music!

It's a rainy day here at the farm. I have to head out for a hay pickup shortly, and am hoping to hear back from a possible lamb customer, but besides that it is a very quiet weekday. The house has muddy paw prints and the fire I lit this morning during chores has died down. It's far too warm out these days to use the bit of firewood I have left on luxury heat, so I am letting the embers do their quiet dance and bow out till dark.

Most of the snow is melting and being replaced with the smells of dark soil and wet hay. The horses were both soggy this morning from the soft rainfall. While feeding out their morning rations Mabel shook and made sure to share the wealth of muck and shedding hair on her back, covering my whole front and splatter on my glasses. I laughed for a solid minute!

It is such a joy seeing this horse that I was told would be too lame to do anything above a walked trail ride jump and run and boss around Merlin like the queen of the pasture she is. I can't wait for the snows to melt on the mountain and the ground to firm up again so I can spend summer afternoons with her again out on the trail.

Last night I met up with three friends at the Depot, (our town's train-station-turned-brewery) and worked up the nerve to ask the regular players of the Thursday Night Celtic Jam if I could play with them? I didn't have my fiddle but I did have a tin whistle and so I joined in for a song or two. It felt so great to meet the crew, shake hands, and see some of their amazing instruments. One man has a vintage Gibson J-45 (the guitar my dog is named after) and some vintage fiddles were there. Author Jim Kunstler was there as well, on his guitar and fiddle. It was a lovely night of music, and Friday was with me asleep at my feet while we played.

I am going to be positive as possible about the farm. I don't know what else I can do? Be calm, and positive, and hope for the best. Keep playing music and enjoy the gift of a beer bought by friends every once in a while. Outside the Depot everything was wet and windy last night, but inside were friends and dogs, beer and music, stories and song. I don't know anyone so anxious about money who manages to feel so wealthy.

May sunlight, luck, and good work find us all.

Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Could Do Worse

Winding down the month of March and the farm is still covered in snow. It is melting in sections, but living on the eastern side of a mountain means shade all summer but winter gets an extended stay. Things here are volatile but hopeful. A part-time job I have been working at just considered hiring me for 20 hours a week instead of 8-10. That could happen in the following weeks, but if it doesn't, at least the cold will have passed and energy and money put into heating the homestead can go towards seeds and gardens and chicks. I am so ready for spring I am tuning my banjo.

Earlier today my bread dough flopped. Maybe the flour or yeast I pulled from winter stores was too old? Maybe the kitchen was too cold? Instead of trashing it I rolled it into donuts, boiled it in salted water, brushed it in olive oil and sea salt. Baked into "bagels" which they technically aren't but damn if I didn't make the best out of a mediocre situation. Story of my life, baby.

Right now I am trying every trick in the book to stay solvent. I would be lying of just making it wasn't the goal. I hope things turn for the better, that some luck swoops in, or sales pick up. If not I know I have stale bagels and sunlight on the way. A girl could do worse. 

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Eight Years of Gibson!

Gibson recently had a birthday, eight years old! He was the dog I dreamed of in the first paragraph of my very first book. The dog I secured online for a farm before I even bought a place to call our own. And the dog I picked up from the Albany airport in early summer of 2010 and brought home to his own 6-acre sheep-filled abode! Gibson means the world to me, and has been there for every triumph and tear on this land. I love you, Gibson. I love you every minute of your life.

Monday, March 19, 2018

Curated Lives

I have been thinking a lot about curated lives, a discussion I was introduced to via Dax Shepherd's podcast. In an interview with his wife, Kristin Bell, they talk at length about how much our society has changed and how modern social media effects our mental health. I'm paraphrasing but the gist was this:

We used to live in groups of a couple hundred, at most. When human civilization was new—and our social brains were forming—we were used to being celebrated for being best at something. In groups that small you were the fastest runner, the best fisherman, the best squash grower, the best hunter... You could excel and be awarded by your community for your contributions.

But now we are constantly on social media and instead of comparing our lives to another hundred people we're comparing them to several million. And we're comparing the real selves we know to the curated lives of strangers - people showing the pictures they want you to see, and ONLY those pictures. It's a recipe for a real bummer.

So now you're no longer content knowing you're the best goat herd in your village. Even if that is true you can scroll through the Instagrams of several thousand goat herds online. Goat herds with perfect lighting, effects filters, personal stylists, etc. None of us can compete with the best of the best in a selection pool of the millions, certainly not while looking at models with goats on screen while we eat our second bowl of oatmeal in our stained yoga pants...

As a blogger and memoirist I thought about this a lot. My Instagram is guilty of this, too. My blog, books, and Twitter account certainly aren't. (Arguably, I'm sharing too much of the imperfect on those.) Am I part of the problem? Even if you don't like reading what I am going through is it giving you the inevitable comparison hangover?

This is what I am thinking about heading into another Lambing Season Sunset. Should I post a lamb covered in placenta and out of focus on Instagram? Probably not. I should probably just focus on getting that lamb fed, warm, safe, and docked. But as a farmer sharing her life and story online I'm also mildly responsible to be realistic as possible. Kristin Bell's often on Instagram without any makeup talking about the raccoon ruining her yard. And she posts the entire process and team of people it takes to get her ready for an awards show: the spray-on makeup, boob tape, hair extensions, stylists, etc. I hope this blog does that for you, showing you the real story behind the chaos of a dream. The boob tape of a farm.

Misery is comparing ourselves to others. But as the podcast shares (and I can't recommend this podcast enough, especially this episode and the one with Ellen - Ellen is great but the discussion about the 4th Step in AA and how to better deal with people you resent is AMAZING) - it shares that while we may feel horrible comparing ourselves to the best stranger - we can often be happy comparing our current selves to our past. We get better as we get older.

Friday, March 16, 2018

Making My Bed

I keep writing and deleting posts here. It's been two days of starting passionate confessions and then removing them. I begin with this brutal honesty about my insecurities and real doubt I'll be able to keep this farm. How it's been too long without a book deal, loan, or lucky break. I write about not being able to sleep at night, about how long that has been going on, and how if I was in a relationship with anyone who mildly cared about me they would have convinced me to quit years ago (probably around the time both the toilet and hot water both didn't work).

I write about my winter angry as if I'm treating someone I love horribly. I made an enemy with my morning reflection. I haven't slept through the night in weeks. The stress eats you. The responsibility claws into you. And the fact that every mistake and failure is shared here or on Twitter makes it more like a public self-flagellation than anything else.

You get the gist.

These are not upbeat posts. Few posts this winter have been. It's been horrifically cold. An obsessed troll sent police officers to my door. I have managed to *just* keep ahead of foreclosure every month, which gives me about two days to exhale before I realize I'm already in trouble again with time. Rapid heartbeats and cold sweats are normal. I got sick recently and I don't think it had anything to do with disease.

Some times I'm glad it's just me here, because I mean to stay. I mean to see this place through till summer comes home. I have no idea how that'll happen but I know that every morning I wake up and I make my bed. I make it even though no one else will ever see it but me. I make it because it starts my day with the tiniest courtesy, the choice for order in a life so tenuous I started getting chest pains. I walk down the stairs to begin my day and remember these three things:

I am not a victim and never have been.
This is my fight and I chose it.
I can either keep going or quit.

And for some reason I choose to keep going.

I chose this life because it taught me the meaning I was searching for: a reason to exist. I know that sounds whimsically pretentious (at best) but my luckiest moment in life was when I found the upside-down puzzle piece of farming by accident and realized it fit perfectly into the hollow piece inside of me. Agriculture connects me to my ancestors, to myth, to religion and sex and celebrations and death! It lets me be civilized and an animal at the same time. It gave me strength and skills I could never even imagine while sitting in a college typography class forever ago. It brought me horse feathers and hawk talons and the glorious drunk-exhaustion of checking for babe lambs at 3AM in a snowstorm.

This life makes me feel wealthy in ridiculous ways. I recently got an email from friends swimming with whales on vacation by some steamy archipelago. All I could think about was how sad it was they could just pick up and leave a home that didn't need them. The poverty of their reality was palpable. Island vacations feel like a distraction to happiness, a job someone has to do to appear normal. That is, of course, my crazy belief. They feel the same poverty and pity for my story knowing I can not leave. We are both correct. We are simply different religions.

Living on this mountain with this particular mix of animals gave every season a story. Spring is for new livestock being born, shearing sheep, the first cold crops planted and prayers for warmer days. Summer is for fast horses, trout fishing, running across long stretches of farm roads, and lazy river swims. Fall is for eating all the hard work of summer, for bonfires, for ghost stories, for hunting, for preparing for long cold nights ahead and the real fear of not making it through. And winter is for flying trained hawks, snowshoeing through the forest, and proving those fall fears false.

Homesteading requires the sacrifice of presence. That cost is too high for most people to pay, at least on their own. Travel is social currency. Fill your passport and you're considered worldly. Stay on six acres by choice and you're a bumpkin. I'm a college educated, several-times-over published author but in any social setting of consequence that means very little when people hear I haven't spent a night away from my farm in over six years. My lifestyle goes from earthy and quaint to a recluse, or worse, prisoner.

Everyone I know that does leave their farm does so because they aren't alone. Most blogs sharing the country life include a husband, some kids, and an off-camera a second income, health insurance, and a 401k. Let me be clear - none of those things are bad. They just aren't mine.

Cold Antler Farm is not a 501c3. It is not getting checks from the government, not in subsidies or any other form of assistance. It isn't funded by a spouse, or my parents, or some cashed-in investment or magical inheritance. It's one woman waking up and making a list, hoping for luck, and having the brutal audacity to believe she'll do it again the next day.

I have a couple hundred bucks in my checking account, a heart, and two working hands. They're all backed up by a head running on fumes and the proof positive of eight years of figuring it out alone. I let that be the reality I believe in.

We aren't the sum of our mistakes. We're a collection of the lessons we learned from them and person we are trying to become. Every year I become stronger, smarter, more certain, more ready to do whatever it takes to legally keep this place in my name. And I need to believe in that version of me because the other option is leaving the only thing that ever gave this world sense behind. 

I made my bed and I plan to lie in it,
 even a few weeks from now,
even alone,
even afraid.