… before the storm

Ellen is the best little goat.

In the evenings, when the light starts to soften and the day loosens its grip just a little, I let her either play with Reece or roam freely while I do my chores. She listens so well and sticks close to me wherever I go. This evening, she was drawn to the freshly sprouted rye grass along the edge of the dirt road… that tender green buffet was calling her name. So instead of hurrying her away, I walked beside her and let her taste something she clearly wanted.

As she grazed, she stood there in the golden hour, alert, her fluffy little body lit up by the last of the sun. No rush. No fear. Just a quiet moment. She’d probably been eyeing that grass for a while, and now she was finally getting to indulge. Watching her, I felt how that calm posture mirrored what I’ve been doing here and the life I’ve built. Slower now. Intentional. Rooted. A life that doesn’t need to prove itself to anyone.

Not everything has been without its rattles, though. Between yesterday and today, my well stopped working, and the panic came quick and sharp. Anyone who lives like this (on land, well providing your water, etc.) knows that kind of worry hits fast. My mom came out yesterday to offer her help, but instead I chose to show her how I could throw a tantrum inside the tiny well house, which shockingly (!!!) did not fix anything. This morning I finally caved and called the well company, and they had me back up and running in less than thirty minutes.

I’ve been preparing, little by little, for the ice storm that may come - hauling hay, stacking wood, checking troughs, dragging the pastures. I’ve spent long hours outside these past few days, moving purposefully, making sure every critter is settled and safe. I sleep better knowing I’ve done all I can to prepare this place for whatever comes.

There is something gratifying about tending to what you love before trouble arrives.

In walking a goat down a dirt road at sunset so she can have a special treat.

In trusting moments like this.

I don’t know if I’m prepared enough for an ice storm that could cripple a lot of folks, but as long as the house holds, I’ll be warm by the wood stove, there will be music, backup power for wifi (blogging) and enough food for me and the animals, and we’ll wait it out here until it’s safe to leave the farm again.

xo

-s