I Stopped Writing

FINALLY sitting down to writing again.

I stopped writing.

Not because I ran out of things to say or lessons to teach. In fact, almost the opposite has been true—too much has been happening since the middle of spring.

In these past few months, as my writing has slipped away from me, the farm has continued to grow. My family life has continued as a working mom of a toddler. And there is always something that needs doing.

Always.

So when I do have an hour of free time, sitting down to write often gets pushed behind whatever other issue the farm or business is demanding of me. And in that sense, my hour of "free time" rarely consists of me sitting around doom-scrolling. It is usually an hour spent doing something else that needs to be done.

Writing was something I was going to get to. Just… tomorrow.

Without fail, tomorrow arrived with a chore list just as high and never-ending as the day before.

But there was another part of me that quietly snuck its way in again. Doubt.

I began to wonder whether anyone was really reading anyway. If no one was waiting for the next piece, maybe it was okay to push it back a little further.

Blogging is a strange phenomenon. I can pour myself into a piece of writing and receive very little visible feedback or obvious sign that anyone is reading, caring, or wanting to hear what I have to say.

Eventually, the question creeps in—slowly at first, but like all seeds of doubt, once they take hold, they grow quickly: Does this matter if nobody is here to listen?

That thought contributed to my silence over these past few months more than I wanted to admit.

If this is simply a place for me to share knowledge and thoughts for people to read, then surely nobody would miss a few months here or there.

Except I missed it.

Because there is a funny thing about running a farm and business independently, watching everyday life come at you in waves, and raising a toddler in the middle of it all: Just because I stopped writing things down doesn't mean the stories stopped.

Things still happen here. Constantly.

The chickens.

The garden.

The markets.

The things that are failing.

The things that have unexpectedly worked.

The long days.

The ridiculous days.

The land that continues to change with the seasons.

Just this month alone, the garden has produced food for my family while my garlic bed was completely destroyed. I processed my first batch of chickens that I hatched and raised myself from my own flock. I went to Garlic Fest and made new connections with other local farmers. My toddler is learning about plant care. And I finally have upgraded feeders that I truly love for the first time in a very long time.

These are the things that make up life here.

Around here, we aren't just the blank face of a business that we see so often. We are building a life around our pre-existing modern expectations.

And honestly, I am not coming back with some grand content strategy where I can guarantee perfectly polished blogs every week. I am not here to pretend that my first year in business has been completely successful or super easy. It is really hard to run a multifaceted business largely on your own while balancing a full-time job and a family.

But I do want to show what is happening here.

The successes and failures.

The mundane work.

The beautiful and ridiculous moments.

The parts of farming nobody puts in the glossy photos.

Right now, it is late August, and fall is standing on the doorstep.

The farm is transitioning toward fall and winter crops while we are still waiting for summer crops to ripen. The current chicken flock is expanding while the foundation is being laid for the second flock to join us in 2027. Preparations for lambs and bees are fully underway. Seasonal products are making their way onto our market stall, and there is still an enormous amount to do around here before winter settles in fully.

And I am truly excited to close out 2026 in a whirlwind that never really seems to rest.

So, I'm going to start writing again. Once a week, if I can.

And when I don't have something polished or profound to say, I'll tell you what happened in the forest that week.

Because the truth is, I stopped writing.

But I don't think I want to stop telling the story of this farm.