Standing at the Edges of the Busy Season

The Stillness Before

Walk through my front door on any given day right now, and you’re immediately surrounded by the sweet scent of curing soap mingling with the warm yeast of fresh bread. Seed trays sit idle, waiting to burst forward with life. At your feet, a farm dog gently wags her tail, eyes full of love and quiet admiration, though she moves slower than she did so many years ago.

Today, the fence line stretches out longer than expected, disappearing into a dark, damp forest. There is a new crispness in the air that hints at change quickly approaching.

This is the season of stillness. Of quiet. Of calm.

The Hum Beneath the Surface

But beneath the serene image of frost coating the grass so it sparkles in the early morning light, there is a hum. Low and steady under the frozen surface of winter, but there nonetheless.

The calendar races toward me, filled with more busy days than open ones. Supplies are ordered. Deadlines loom. There is a never-ending mental list of projects that presses forward whether I am ready or not.

Winter feels productive, but contained. It is not slow or stagnant – it simply moves at a different pace. The plants are frozen in time, growing very little. The air is still. The birds are quiet.

And beneath it all are the sharp demands of spring.

Spring feels expansive and vast, like the days are never long enough and time slips through your hands. Everything needs attention at once. The overwhelm arrives quickly.

Where Excitement Meets Dread

This life exists between two conflicting truths.

There is excitement and hope in planting seedlings and anticipating lambs on the farm. But there is also exhaustion waiting on the horizon. There is a physical weight of work that cannot be postponed and never truly ends, especially when the farm exists alongside an entire other life I lead beyond these fence lines.

Right now, my thoughts are consumed by a fencing project that feels larger than what I am capable of finishing in time. And yet, it must be done before lambs arrive this summer.

So I build the fence anyway.

What I find, over and over again, is that this life holds so much meaning and purpose that I choose it daily. Passion and conviction do not make it easier as farming is physically demanding and often relentless.

But I choose it because I believe deeply in what our farm stands for.

The anticipation of spring feels like standing at the edge of a wave, bracing for impact, knowing you are strong enough not to be knocked down.

The Weight and the Willingness

In this in-between season, I know what is coming in just a few short weeks. This is the time of year that stretches me — the season that asks me to push beyond exhaustion and keep going.

I live through spring and summer by telling myself I can do anything for “just five more minutes.” And when five minutes pass, I tell myself the same thing again.

I know the coming months will bring long days and sore muscles.

And yet, I prepare anyway.

Every spare moment of daylight, rain or shine, I am building a fence anyway. In the evenings, I am starting seeds and making soap anyway. In the early mornings of the weekend, there is fresh bread on the counter, gently steaming.

I do not do it because it is easy. I do it because it is mine.

Standing Between Seasons

Winter is a cool, steady inhale into the year. Spring is the sudden exhale. 

Right now, I stand between the two seasons – At the edge of what’s coming and I am choosing to step forward anyway.