The Truth About Spring on a Small Farm

Spring on a small farm is dreamt about as rays of sunlight shimmering in the early morning fog, found in the sound of rooster crows, perfect seedlings emerging from the soil, and the first buds beginning to open. It is romantic. But it is also a time when the to-do list never seems to stop growing, despite checking tasks off, and a season defined by the constant pull for attention in every direction. For many small farmers, this season is balanced alongside out-of-home work, pushing the demands of spring into the margins of never-enough-time.

Spring on a small farm actually looks like unfinished projects around every corner. Right now, half of my garden beds are beautifully weeded, mulched, and ready to receive plants, while the other half is as lush as a summer lawn, thick with weeds and grass. The netting that collapsed over my duck pen has been removed, but not repaired. The deer netting is still not up. Downed trees from harsh winter storms still stretch across the fence line, and while the fencing project has most of the line cleared, no posts have yet been pounded into the ground. Everywhere you look, something has been started, but not finished.

Spring in the Pacific Northwest brings its own kind of chaos. This season is often filled with too little sun, and the work that must be done outdoors becomes soggy, cold, and relentless. A sudden late snowstorm can undo progress overnight, adding unexpected projects to a list that already feels too long. Every half-finished task competes for priority, and the truth is, they are all priorities on a timeline that will not wait. Spring moves forward whether you are ready or not.

Being a mom of a young child in this season means that everything takes a little longer. Quick tasks are rarely quick, and farm work is tucked into the pockets of time that exist during naps or after bedtime. Part of this season is learning to let go of perfect productivity and accepting that progress will look slower, more interrupted, and far less polished than expected, while still choosing to find joy in it.

And yet, the reality of this life is that it is still deeply beautiful and fulfilling. Even with unfinished projects scattered across the farm, my seedlings are thriving. Despite being only halfway through seed starting, I have well over one hundred plants growing strong. Life continues to push forward, quietly and steadily, even in the middle of the chaos. The projects will get finished, the weather will turn, and there is hope woven into the middle of it all.

There are moments that ground everything. Early mornings where the cool air and warm sunlight meet in contrast. Watching seeds break through the soil and open to the sky. A toddler wearing gardening gloves that don’t quite fit, trying to convince the ducks to let her pet them. These are the moments that cut through the noise and remind me why I keep showing up, day after day. Why I choose this life again and again. There is beauty in this imperfect rhythm.

Spring isn’t perfectly organized or aesthetically pleasing. It is messy, full, and alive. Growth does not look like perfection; it looks like persistence in the face of the storm.

At the end of the day, when there is still more left undone than finished, there is a quiet need to slow down. To step out of the noise and into something simpler, even if only for a moment. To wash the day away and mark the shift from constant doing to intentional rest. It is in these small rituals that I am reminded that care is not only something we give to the land, but something we must give to ourselves as well—something that lives at the heart of everything I create in the Hearth & Hollow Collection.

It’s messy. It’s unfinished. And it is still worth it.