Farm Fresh Eggs
A basket of beautiful farm fresh eggs from my flock, waiting to head to my customers.
Suddenly, the days are short and darkness falls so early. The morning fog never really burns off, and the air has a perpetual crispness to it. In town, the holiday decorations are going up.
2026 is coming to an end.
I’m still limited in how much I can get around after surgery, so I’ve had a lot of time to think about this past year on the farm. I keep coming back to opening day.
It was warm, the sun kissing everything it touched, and the air was alive with excitement. As 10 o’clock drew nearer, people began pacing along the sidewalk, waiting for the sound of the opening bell.
My home and body products were ready to go, my plants were lined up, and I was so nervous in all of it.
I often feel like an imposter running in the background of my own farm. Not quite a business yet, not quite a farmer, and not quite ready to fit into a category.
The goal was simple. I wanted to share what I grew, what I made, and what I believed about farming with my community. I was also very, very nervous that I would fail.
Looking back at what actually happened this year fills my heart to the top.
I was able to take every bit of money I earned and pour it back into the farm in a way I hadn’t been able to before. That opening weekend paid for the ten new ducks running around the farm this year.
But sales are as unreliable as the weather. There were Saturdays when I came home wondering whether it was worth giving up that time with my family to keep going.
Then someone would stop by my booth for the second time and proudly tell their friend that mine was the booth they always came to.
One day, a woman marched into my booth holding one of my soap labels. “Is this yours?” she demanded.
My heart stopped. I said yes and waited for the complaint.
She picked up six bars and bought them all. She told me it was the best thing she’d ever used on her skin.
Over the season, my regulars became my friends. They stopped by to chat and check in, and I welcomed every conversation. They shared their stories and their apple orchards with me.
Early in the season, a woman stopped by my booth and I told her how much I loved the farm. I had no idea she worked for an organization that supports small farms. Since then, she’s nominated me for grants, bought from me for catered events, and sent people my way when they ask where to find a local farm. Somewhere along the way, she became a friend and an advocate for the farm.
I started sharing more of the farm online this year, too. Answering comments feels a lot like talking across my market table. I want people like me to see they aren’t alone. I fail. I break things. My well-constructed plans don’t always work out, and that’s okay. Sometimes they do work, and I want to show you how I did it.
On opening day, I stood behind my table waiting for the bell, wondering whether I belonged there. By the end of the season, I had a friend I’d met across that same table texting to ask if I had any more eggs.
What this year actually taught me was that when you show up for your community, you will find many ways that the community will show up for you.