It’s been chilly the past few days, but the sun has still been shining beautifully. I just became an aunt on Saturday! Calves are weaned, horses are moved for the winter, and sheep we took to another farm for breeding are back on our own place.
Today, I’m preparing to queue up the first “Light in Winter” email newsletter to be delivered on Wednesday morning. (There’s still time to add your name to the list! Sign up by midnight tonight and enjoy illustrated stories from the farm and rural life to light up your season!)
Interestingly, two posts ago, the one about my grandfather, marked my 200th post, and I made it on the day that marked eight years of blogging on WordPress, on this platform. I celebrate the fact I’ve continued to write, slow and steady.
From my last few posts, one would get the idea that there was no joy in the summer.
But in actuality, I found joy in all sorts of places. It’s just been hard to put down all the words I had swirling in my head. They’re unorganized and filled with emotion. As a professional writer, I know what my peers would say: just scribe something, anything, and the story will form itself. Shapes can only form from putting something down.
Part of the beauty of this summer was that my head was clearer than it’s been in years. I’ve learned how to handle all the health challenges that have been thrown at me (more later), and for the first time in years, I saw the summer clearly, and it was beautiful.
The hay is all in place for the winter, and that is a great triumph; we’ve struggled to do that for the last few years, for various reasons. Jeff and I bought a new ram, a grey Shetland named Gandalf. I cleaned tool sheds and washed horses and reveled in my job as a farmer and shepherd. I mowed a lot of fields as part of my newly implemented Pasture Improvement Program, and I still smile as I drive by the verdant landscape.
Feeling better prepared for the winter is a relief, and I look forward to fuzzy socks, thick blankets, and a good book.
The Kiwi Hoosier 