Starting Over Again

Starting Over Again

We started our farm in mid-2021 with no experience raising livestock, little gardening knowledge, and having just built our home from the ground up. The land was rough. Before we decided it was exactly what we were looking for, someone had cleared a large section a few years prior. In the Pacific Northwest, empty land doesn’t stay empty for long—it’s quickly overtaken by invasive species like Himalayan blackberry and Scotch broom. While this property was everything we had hoped for, those two plants seemed determined to stay. Even now, more than four years later, we still spend countless hours pulling blackberry and Scotch broom. For an organic farm, it often feels like a never-ending battle of wills—and some days, I’m not sure mine is stronger than the plants.

Then life happened, and our farm fell flat. Deer decimated our garden and the weeds quickly reclaimed the space. The blackberries won — quickly creeping back into spaces that I spent many hours clearing. Our beautiful flock of chickens, ducks, and geese was wiped out within two weeks by a near constant barrage of predators—visited again and again by raccoons, owls, and birds of prey. I remember looking out at our failed farm, holding my head in my hands, and sobbing. When my husband came home, I told him that maybe this life I wanted more than anything just wasn’t meant to be — maybe this life wasn’t for me.

I took a year off from farming entirely. I didn’t pull a single weed, raise meat or egg birds, pull fencing, or start a single seed. Our five-year plan came to a crashing halt. At the same time, I was fighting postpartum depression after returning to work from maternity leave. Life was hard, and I was struggling.

So, I shifted my focus. I worked on projects around the farm that had been looming over me. Slowly, one project at a time, I felt my drive return. Time did what it does best—it healed my broken heart. The hope I thought I’d lost started to grow again. In late fall of 2024, one year after stepping back, I decided enough was enough. I ordered new flocks of meat birds, a flock of ducks, fresh seeds for the garden, and got back up.

Now, I am starting over again. But this time, everything looks different. There’s the gentle pitter-patter of a sweet toddler following every farm chore I do. There are lessons learned from every mistake I’ve made along the way. Things are still difficult—the deer are relentless, the slugs are winning their own battles, and it has taken countless hours to get the Scotch broom under control. But this time is different; this time, I’m stronger too.

As the year comes to a close and winter approaches, I feel grateful. Starting over isn’t failure—it’s growth. One line from one of my daughter’s books keeps ringing in my ears: “This wasn’t the end of your story; it was a beautiful beginning, too.” I can’t wait to see what the next year has in store, and I feel ready to face it head-on.