January Was Quiet, But It Mattered.

The Longest Month

The last week of January is upon us, and honestly, this month always feels long. Maybe it’s the hurriedness of the holiday season, or the push to return to school in the New Year, but January carries a particular heaviness. The days are short and it is dark—a lot. At the same time, the days feel long, often bleeding well into the night.

But the end of January brings with it the feeling of spring coming, and the sense of finally coming up for air. While January maybe didn’t look impressive on paper, it felt incredibly important.

Living Between Chores and Midnight Bread

This month, the chores are colder now that there is finally a bite in the air. Despite that, animals still need fresh water, access to food, and clean bedding. As farmers, the weather does not get to dictate our level of engagement or care.

Routinely on Friday nights, I find myself making bread well into the stillness of night; once well passed midnight. Weekdays mean juggling life as a teacher, a mom, a wife, and a farmer, and most days feel like time is a grand, limited resource that is always slipping just out of reach.

This is also the first month that my business “doors” have been open. There has been a noticeable shift as I navigate the waters between hobby farm and market farm—territory that is entirely new to me.

Midnight Bread

We started making bread at 8 PM - after my daughter had gone to bed. 6 loaves latter, we called it a night at 2:30 AM.

Crossing a Quiet Line

January was the first month we started making sales as a business. These sales were not life-changing for us as a family. They were small numbers, familiar faces, and modest income. By the end of the month, I had made enough from egg sales to pay for the next bags of poultry feed—and that felt huge to me.

But the heart of it doesn’t lie in a cash flow line.

There is something deeply powerful about your community rallying around a new business in support. I didn’t have to beg people to buy from us. I am incredibly fortunate to have people in my life who organically choose to support what I am working to build.

People trusted what I am doing and the products I am producing. They came to me for sales, and I got to show up consistently for them. That feels like crossing an incredible—if invisible—line.

This month also included a farm tour, establishing four repeat customers (with more interested folks on the horizon), and beginning to take growing our social media presence seriously, even when it still feels uncomfortable.

The Wins That Didn’t Make Noise

Opening ourselves up as a business came alongside many other small wins.

On the business side, I applied for the Tilth Alliance Grant for new farms and began an Agricultural Entrepreneurship course through Washington State University. This class has given me a clearer understanding of how agricultural businesses function and where Forestside Farm & Garden can grow. Every lesson leaves me with a new perspective—and a growing sense of confidence.

On the land, we began establishing a new garden bed that will eventually connect to our existing garden. This included clearing large sections of scotch broom, building two raised beds (with two more in progress), and laying the beginnings of pathways. More than anything, I can finally see this farm turning into what I dreamed of in those early days, when the land was empty and new.

All of our poultry flocks also began laying in serious quantity. Right now, we’re averaging nearly half a dozen eggs per day—meaning more egg orders to fill and, naturally, more bread to be made. Two of our Orpington hens have also gone broody, a crucial step toward hatching chicks this spring and closing the loop on our sustainable meat bird operation.

Eggs in Abundance

I am collecting a dozen eggs a day, and we have 20 eggs currently developing under one of our broody chickens.

Where the Edges Frayed

The wins did not come hand in hand with perfection.

They followed long nights, and exhaustion has become a familiar visitor. Balancing two jobs while supporting a healthy, fulfilling family life has brought an intense struggle with time management. Farming comes with learning curves, and things rarely go exactly as planned.

There were moments of frustration and overwhelm this month. But these challenges weren’t failures—they were simply part of what growth looks like.

Perhaps this season deserves a deeper look at what isn’t sustainable, like every night being a late night, and what needs to shift in order for success to thrive. At the same time, it’s important to recognize that real life will always include these moments.

Growth You Can’t Always See

Even in the face of obstacles or setbacks, small wins add up. Every victory in January—no matter how quiet—moves me closer to where I want to be.

Winter is a time of rest, quiet, and reflection. Progress in winter doesn’t look like overflowing harvests or seedling trays. It looks more like plants frozen in time—no longer growing, but not dead either. Life held in suspended animation, waiting for the warmth of the sun to return.

Winter progress is time spent with intention, so that when spring arrives in a rush, I am ready.

It’s easy for farmers to feel like winter is only a season of waiting. I choose to notice the growth anyway.

Turning Gently Toward What’s Next

As February approaches, my focus is gently shifting forward. Winter may not be the season for grand goals, but it is a time for living intentionally.

One goal for February is to sit down with my seeds and create a planting timeline—deciding what needs to be started and when, rather than rushing at the last minute as days and weeks slip by. One system at a time feels like the only way to regain control of the passing minutes.

I’m excited to continue my Agricultural Entrepreneurship coursework and to see how much my business can grow because of it. I’m also looking forward to finishing the products for our Hearth & Hollow Collection and seeing where that leads.

Some things will remain unfinished. Clearing the property line for future perimeter fencing is ongoing work that requires patience and care, not rushing just to check a box. I’m not focused on finishing it by next month—only on being a little closer.

None of This Happens Alone

As January, and my first month of business, comes to a close, I want to say thank you.

To everyone who has bought a carton of eggs, read my blog posts, watched my videos, shared a post, or sent a message saying, “Hey, I see what you’re doing,” thank you. To every newsletter subscriber and every person quietly cheering this on, I am deeply grateful.

This community may not be large, and right now it’s made up mostly of people who know me in real life, but it is powerful. It’s what keeps me moving forward when the days are long and the nights are cold.

I invite you to continue along with me as February begins, and I cannot wait to share the journey with you.

January reminds me that slow doesn’t mean stagnant.