Unheld

 

There was a moment a few days ago that stayed with me longer than I expected.

An acquaintance came by the farm to pick up a gift certificate I was donating to a fundraiser. We stood out in the yard for a bit, talking about the usual things - dogs, work, life moving faster seemingly as we get older. She had invited me to the fundraiser, but I said I had too much going on this weekend to make it, mentioning maintaining the house and land and farm - and also running a business - on my own. 

I mentioned that I live out here alone, not knowing if she’d heard that I ended a 25-year relationship a couple of years ago. Her expression was that of I guess a sad compassion, and I said “Oh, it’s fine. I’m good. That’s life.”

She looked at me - really looked - and said,

“But you always looked so happy.”

And I smiled, because I understood exactly what she meant. “I know how to hold things together pretty well,” I told her.

That’s a skill a lot of us have. Smiling through a clenched jaw at work. Carrying on as if life was great when I was in the thick of emotional weight, got really easy for me. 

We learn how to function, to show up.

How to keep things moving forward, even when something underneath it all isn’t quite right. We smile in public. We laugh when it’s appropriate. We do the things we’re supposed to do. Not because we’re trying to fool anyone.

Most of the time we’re trying to fool ourselves just enough to get through the day… and over the last decade or more, I got really good at it. Therapy recently taught me I had become a master at compartmentalizing. Because if you can just hold it together - just keep it looking normal - then maybe it becomes normal. Or at least manageable. And when things look normal, people don’t ask a lot of questions.

I’ve always been a ‘strong’ person, but this strength came from needing to just function as normal as possible…not loud. Not dramatic. It looked very normal from afar. It looked like showing up to work. It looked like keeping commitments. It was showing all the fun sweet moments of this little farm on social media. It looked like smiling at the right moments so no one asked too many questions about something I didn’t yet have answers for.

It looked like being ‘fine’. And for a long time, I was. Fine enough to function. Fine enough to look like everything was intact. Fine enough that no one would have guessed anything different. But there’s a cost to that kind of strength. Because when you get really good at holding things together… you can also get really good at staying in things longer than you should.

You can smooth over your own discomfort.

Minimize your own needs. Convince yourself that if you just keep showing up the same way, eventually something will shift. And sometimes it does. But sometimes… it doesn’t. And just like the unhappiness in that relationship flew under the radar, leaving that relationship wasn’t loud either. It wasn’t a dramatic breaking point or a moment anyone else would have recognized. It was quieter than that. It was the realization that I didn’t want to keep using all of my strength just to maintain something that didn’t feel right anymore. That maybe strength could look like something else. And I did it all while starting up a business. One that would be able sustain me and this farm. One that gave me the financial security I needed so that I could pay for everything all on my own. I was terrified and so scared but carried on with life with a smile all while growing a business that needed to sustain me. Pity was the last thing I wanted. 

These days, my life probably still looks calm from the outside. Only now the outside and the inside are pretty much the same. Sure I get lonely sometimes. Wonder if my person is out there. Question whether I want to live out in the middle of nowhere forever. Force myself to go out into the world to meet people once a week (as I’ve mentioned before, I will never cave to online dating). But things are calm now. And safe. And it’s real - not something that’s held together by effort and endurance.

I still believe there’s value in knowing how to hold things together. Be discreet about things when there is an effort to correct them. Allowing for growth. But I also believe there’s a point where you’re allowed to set it down. Where you don’t have to keep proving how much you can carry. Where “fine” isn’t the goal anymore.

Bottom line is, yes, I usually look happy. For the most part I am - even if I’m shelving something big for when there is room to pick it apart. For now, I’ve had the time and space to pick lots of shelved things apart, and actually am happy in the aftermath of the kind of clarity that brings about. 

xo

- s

Hello, April.

Photos from today.

Dog walks, a little cooking (not pictured), and time with my own crew. Every single day I am in awe that I have created my dream life. 

Now I’m off to bed in a clean house and a snuggly Poptart. 

xo

-s

Same Land, Different Life

It’s the last day of March, and I wanted to close out the month with a few reflections… and a look at what I’m walking into in April.

For starters, I’ve never had a year at the farm begin like this.

Back in December, I was able to buy enough hay to carry me through the winter - something that only happened because the barn was finally cleaned out and able to hold more than ever before.

Then there’s the land - all the grounds out here that I maintain purely for my own enjoyment. And for the first time, it doesn’t feel overwhelming.

Mostly because I now have a small fleet of working lawn tractors - including one with a little haul trailer that has made life out here so much easier. To be honest, this little combo makes me feel like a kid with her most prized possession she didn’t even know was possible. I didn’t ask for it. In fact, I’ve had this mower and this cart for years and thanks to my uncle, he put them together for me and the joy was overwhelming. 

My uncle - the same one who got ol’ Black Pearl back on the road with a full undercarriage overhaul - brought two of my John Deeres back from the dead. One of them had been sitting untouched for four years.

A few years ago, I actually made a Facebook post offering them up for free as scrap… and then took it down because I watch too many horror movies and got spooked by how many random men wanted to come out to my house and load them up. I mean - it’s exactly what I asked for. But in hindsight… not my smartest move.

Turns out the universe had other plans for those mowers.

And now, I’m heading into full bloom season feeling excited instead of growing anxiety about how I’m going to manage it all.

I’m very grateful for uncles who enjoy tinkering with small engines (and bigger ones) when I’m out here doing this farm life on my own.

Then there’s this blog.

When I transitioned from ‘About An Acre’ to ‘Frugal Fashionable Farmer’ back in 2013, I can see now that I was trying to figure out who I was.

I was already starting to realize that in my relationship, neither of us was happy.

So I began exploring the parts of me that felt alive. thrifting (something I’ve loved since I was a child), fashion, music, my animals… all the things that felt like me.

And in hindsight, none of those things included my partner.

That should have been the sign.

Instead, the years invested overrode the practicality of leaving… and the next ten years of staying put made us both miserable, eventually eroding even the amicable parts of what we had.

I guess what I’m really saying is, going into April, I can finally feel that one door is closed… and the future is wide open.

Hopefully for him, too.

I’ve moved through all of it - hurt, anger, resentment - and having released those things, I finally feel like this farm… and this new version of the blog, ‘Winterville Wildling’, reflects who I actually am.

Not a version of me trying to figure it out.

Just… me.

The plates I posted about last weekend came yesterday, and something that small feels huge to me.

I’m excited to get back to baking, cooking, setting mismatched tables… even if it’s just me sitting at them.

Life out here has softened into something easier and more genuine feeling.

Reece, who once required so much management and planning to keep him settled, is now content spending his days outside in his hammock. His energy has shifted with mine, and he’s so much more relaxed.

Poptart has always been easy, so she remains her perfect, joyful self.

And these days, it’s just one goat, two disabled ducks, and the two horses. A smaller menagerie that feels manageable. Sustainable.

Peaceful.

I work for myself now. I’m outside every day. And I’m not carrying the emotional weight I used to.

In a lot of ways, I’ve arrived at the life I was trying to build back in 2013.

Only now, I’m actually here for it.

I’m excited to share this next chapter - friend hangs, comedy shows, music, all of it.

Same farm. Same woman.

Just no longer trying so hard to become the version of myself that has recently arrived.

xo

-s

more than plates…

There was a time I collected vintage Corelle plates like small treasures.

Not all at once.

Not in any kind of plan - I LOVED having that stack of mismatch plates that fit together beautifully in the cupboard.

Just one here, one there… found between chipped mugs and forgotten casserole dishes at thrift stores and yard sales wherever I went. Patterns that felt like something. Gold florals, soft greens, deep blues.

I didn’t realize it then, but I was building something for myself. Those plates became a big part of Sweet Stuff Sunday. A small ritual. A reason to make something, plate it, pause, and appreciate it before it was gone.

Just a real moment that I captured. 

Half-eaten slices of cake.

Cookies still warm.

Fork marks. Crumbs.

Dogs waiting patiently just out of frame.

And then one day, I came home from work and they were gone.

Every single one.

Thrown away by my [now] ex. On trash pickup day. I couldn’t even dig them out to save them.

I was devastated.

I was also convinced this had to be done “for my safety.” That they might be leaking lead. So they weren’t thrown out in anger.

Or at least… not in a way I was allowed to question.

And somehow that made it worse.

Because I didn’t feel like I had the right to be upset.

I felt like I should be grateful.

Like something being taken from me was acceptable, as long as it was framed as care. And the intent was not to hurt me, but still…

They disappeared without a conversation.

Without a moment to say, wait.

So I was forced to let them go.

What other choice did I have?

But, gah those plates stayed with me. I always think about them. Collecting them spanned years. 

But it wasn’t all about the plates. 

I had chosen them slowly.

They were tied to a version of my life where I was quietly trying to create something of my own.

I’d catch myself looking in thrift stores, hoping to find even one again.

I never did.

It’s strange what lingers.

Ten years later, I can still see those plates in the photos above from my old posts.

Still see the way they held something I made with love. The way they made ordinary moments feel like they mattered.

And every time, there’s this quiet pull to build it again.

I’ve browsed eBay. Hovered. Considered.

But never quite pulled the trigger.

And then today…

I saw them.

Three patterns I used to have. Reissued. At Target.

My heart started fluttering.

So easy this time. No hunting. No wondering if I’d ever find them again. Just sitting there like nothing had happened, waiting for me to ‘add to cart’.

It felt absurd.

And also a little like grace.

I have been working very hard to release the past. Release hurt associated with it. And I know these may seem like just plates to most people. But no. This is deeper. Like I was being handed a second chance to reach back into something I thought was gone.

I almost cried.

Actually… I did. Just a little.

So I bought them.

Three patterns I used to have. Not all of them - but three. 

Not replacements. Something more… a return.

They’re on their way now. Somewhere between a warehouse and this old farmhouse.

And I can’t wait to hold them.

To plate something on them again.

To maybe bring back Sweet Stuff Sunday.

The plates are coming back.

This time, they stay as long as I want them to.