This place is hard to leave. I have to make plans on purpose, otherwise I might slip fully feral and never come back to town.
I love living close enough to the land though, that when life gets loud or stressful, it can correct me gently but firmly, when I drift too far from who I am.
That truck, for instance. She fires right up every single time and dares me to take her out on country back roads when I need that particular kind of therapy. The little house creaks the way lived-in places should. Not neglected, just tidy and honest.
The trees watch while I take the dogs out one by one for slow strolls down the dirt road. And the porch lights stay on, casting that warm glow that feels both welcoming and protective.
Last night, just after dark, there was an unusual amount of activity on this otherwise quiet road. Sometimes there are nefarious things that happen out in the country, but I’ve learned that if it looks like you’re paying attention - really paying attention - most folks keep moving, because being seen is what they are usually actively avoiding.
So when the commotion picked up, I stood on the top step of my porch, well lit by those lights. A truck passed, saw me, then backed up toward my house. My heart started beating a little faster, then I heard a man call out, “You seen any loose cows?” as he reversed his way closer.
I stepped into the dark to meet him. He explained someone thought they’d spotted a loose cow nearby. I went inside, grabbed a flashlight, and walked my horse pasture and goat field. I told him I had a camera right at the road and it hadn’t picked up any animals. He headed off to check farther down the road.
As I was walking back toward the house, with my flashlight swinging with each step, another truck came by. this one carrying an older couple, grandparents of the young man I’d just spoken to. I recognized them immediately. They tend the cattle farm across from me. I told them the same thing and promised I’d call if anything showed up on my cameras.
And then, as I turned back toward my place, I fell in love all over again like I do every. single. time.
With this land.
That truck.
This house.
This life I built with my own two hands.
Hard work. Perseverance. Heart.
And a whole lot of grit.
I don’t need much from the world anymore.
Just a place that knows me, work that’s honest, and the courage to stay when staying matters.
I hope you all have a lovely weekend. One promise I made to myself in 2026 is a standing Saturday morning ritual - leaving the farm on purpose for a little human interaction before returning to the quiet.
This morning that means a group walk, a few dog walks, and brunch with a friend. Then it’s back to the wild, all before 2pm, where then I can fully embody the farmhouse hermit that I’ve become very comfortable being.
What are your Saturday plans?
xo
-s
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