Failure.

Failure.

The word itself is as ugly as the meanings and connotations behind it. I don’t particularly like the word, but it’s about all I can come up with today, though not totally befitting.

I know I am not a failure. My life is not a failure. But we use the word so readily and so often to describe different areas of our lives. I’ve done the same. It’s an easy trap to fall in to. We have failed marriages, business failures, job losses, applications or tests that we don’t pass. They’re all failures of some sort, often projecting the sense of failure on us as humans.

I recently ventured out on a new opportunity. I even chased this opportunity for a year. A whole year of studying. How to achieve it. How to reach it. How to be part of it. And I reached it. Funny thing is, as I neared that goal, there was a very small part of me that was whispering, “This isn’t really for you. I know you’ve been chasing this, but I’m not so sure you’re up for it.” But, come on. After a year of going after something, don’t you think for one minute I’m gonna back off now. I mean, I made it this far. I’ve finally achieved it.

But even as I was going through the motions of making this change to implement this goal I had worked toward, I found myself having to make myself tell others I was excited about it. I was trying to encourage my enthusiasm.

What?

How often do we do that? Try to encourage our enthusiasm? And more importantly, why? Why do we think we have to continue telling ourselves to be excited for something that now our inner self is thinking just isn’t going to be a fit?

I do think there’s kind of an exception to this. When we know that what we have to go through to reach our end goal is gonna be crap, but we can still envision ourselves at that end goal. That’s now what I’m talking about.

Look at it this way. I strive for a year to get this job. I go through three interview processes. Each time, I pass all the testing and qualifying processes. The first interview though, I fail miserably. (Ooh. There’s that F-word.) The second interview, I fail as well. So after that, I asked for feedback. I took that info, worked it into my interview game, and nailed the third interview. Those feelings I mentioned earlier creep in, but I suppress them. But barely four weeks into the job, I realize without a doubt, I’m not a fit for this position. But truth be told, when I got the call that I had passed the interview, I acted excited, I told myself to be excited, I told others I was excited, but I noticed I didn’t actually feel it in my soul. And as the weeks progressed to moving to that position, I wasn’t only forcing myself to tell others I was excited, I was forcing myself to tell me.

But I had strived for this for so long! Wasn’t this exactly what I wanted and exactly where I wanted to be? Yes! Or so I told myself.

So, as I once again have created a bit of a cluster* in my life, I’ve come to a bigger realization. Again. Why do I make God knock me completely on my arse before I realize He’s taking care of things, including me, and listen? Why have I not learned to LISTEN to that quiet voice in my head? You know, the one that was saying, maybe you’re not excited like you should be because you know deep down, this isn’t you. This job description does not go along with who you are. You are not that person. And yes, I thought, maybe there’s a good reason I didn't pass two interviews!

Now don’t get me wrong. Our jobs do not define us. But, I believe there are jobs, careers, hobbies, etc., that are better fit for our personalities.

But, back to the bigger question. Why do I not listen? I’ve thought long and hard about this particular instance in my life. And I know God’s got this. And I’m thankful that He knocked me completely down this time sooner rather than later. Because even making those calls to the HR department and supervisors were not as hard as trying to make myself do the job. The feelings were there the whole time. But I suppressed them. And when I woke in the middle of the night with the same magnitude of anxiousness I had as when I went through the hardest time in my life a few years ago, I *finally* came to the realization that those feelings were not just a voice in my head. This was my God. This had nothing to do with being a hard thing. The job was “hard”, sure, but that wasn’t the problem. Heaven knows I’ve done hard. I’ve survived hard. I’m not scared of hard. This was more. This was stealing my peace. The anxiousness I felt was stealing my joy. My soul was not resting. And I vowed to myself a long time ago that nothing in this world was worth that. There is nothing on this earth that is worth giving up my peace of mind, heart and soul.

So, I got up, dried my anxious tears, said out loud, “I trust you, God,” and made those hard phone calls. And I walked into that job to return my stuff with my head held high because the angst was gone and peace was restored in my soul!

Do I know what the future holds? Not exactly. Like I said, I’ve kinda created a cluster* for HR.  But I know that my God knew that job was not for me, and wherever I am placed will be a fit and will be a much better place. (Though I do know as of this publishing that I was blessed enough to interview for and receive my old job back!)

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope.”
~Jeremiah 29:11

As for this all being a failure? I don’t believe in failures. I prefer to view these times as my dear friend so eloquently praised it: AFGO, Another Freaking Growth Opportunity.

~d

Maine is Calling and I Must Go

Figure out what you want. I hope you find what you're searching for. Praying you find clarity on your trip. I hope you get what you want.

Wow. All statements I've heard multiple times in the last several days and weeks. Kinda makes me feel like an insecure, randomly epic failure. Or as I was told, like a kid in a candy store, unable to make a decision.

Will I ever grow up? Will I really decide what I want to be, eventually? Or rather, and maybe more importantly, WHO I want to be?

Who do I want to be? I know I want to be kind, giving, and fearlessly faithful. I hear that if we decide who we want to be that what we want to be will naturally follow. I'm not certain I'm feeling it.

Forgive my ramblings, but writing seems to help make sense of the world around me.

I wrote the previous sentences several days ago, after first arriving in Camden, Maine. You may know that just over three years ago, my daughter and I took a trip along the east coast and landed in Camden, having our party we were traveling with "abandon" us there, on purpose. This tiny, picturesque, eclectic village and the surrounding sea has been calling to my soul ever since. So I came back.

I came back to heed the call. To try to figure if it was really a call or rather a warning signal or fog horn or what. I wanted to spend some time here, vegging out, writing, thinking, praying, feeling.

My trip took a bit of a different twist, though, when I asked my folks to come along with me. I knew that if and when I do end up in Maine, they, with their climbing ages and sliding ability to get around easily, might not ever be able to visit me here, so I brought them along to see the coast and what I've been talking about for the last three years. So, I haven't exactly stopped and spent my time writing and thinking as much as I had desired, rather I've been entertaining the old folks and visiting places I might not have visited had they not been along. So, it's all been good, just different than what I had initially planned.

I'm sitting in a window seat in the Camden Public Library as I write. The window I chose overlooks the yard and gazebo of the library, the park and amphitheater, all of which are bordered by Camden Harbor. I'm watching the ships move about, some busy with the locals, geared up in wet weather garb and layers, some taking tourists on day trips, others sitting comfortably at their docks, awaiting their next and possibly close to last voyage for the season.  I have joked the last three years that I could move to Camden and be the librarian, but after sitting in this window, I don't find as much twisted humor in that as before.

It's not an easily explainable thing to try and make others understand how your soul, your very being, the reason for your existence, can be drawn to a particular place. I felt that pull the first time we visited atop Mt. Battie and were overlooking Camden Harbor and Penobscot Bay. Three years later, I felt that same sense as I arrived back in Camden late on a Monday night. Nearly two weeks later, sitting in a window seat in the library, I still feel that pull. But it's not a negative thing. Like I said, it's hard to explain, but it's a sense of belonging. A feeling in your gut that whatever you're supposed to accomplish in life is supposed to happen right here. A realization that the purpose you were put on this earth for is to be played out here, in this spot. It's a feeling that you've reached your destination. You've made it. You're home, now. You can take your shoes off and put your feet up because the rest of whatever you face will be easier now. You're home.

I think if you are lucky enough to find and be in that place, you're one of the luckiest people on earth. Don't get me wrong, I do believe we have the ability to make most any 'place' a home and we can decide to be happy where we are. But sometimes life throws us curveballs that make us see things differently. More independently. More colorful. More out loud. And I don't think we should settle just because we are where we are and we get comfortable. Sometimes the most beautiful of situations come from the most uncomfortable decisions. It's often then that we rise from the ashes and become a shining, polished stone after being tossed and rolled and cast aside.

I believe it's nearly impossible for us to fill someone else's mold. Oh, we can push and squeeze ourself in for a time, we can get excited about someone else's dream or agenda or vision. But eventually, we will realize that we don't change shape so easily. Not to the extent of making someone else's passion ours. Our passions come from within, not without. We must realize and decide our own passions. We may share the same passions with others, but there will always be a bit of a different dream or desire or speed of pursuance, making our own passion ours. And, I don't believe that our passions will work us to the bone. Meaning, we won't ask our passion to make our life livable. I believe our passions should be left alone to be just that and not be required to be our lifeline. If we let them grow and bloom, the possibilities and probabilities that will come from them will be exponential.

So what does my passion have to do with Camden, Maine? Well, if I had my druthers, I'd sit right here on this window seat or down on the pier every day and write to my hearts content! For a creative, I think the physical place we are in makes a lot of difference in our creativity. Add to that the place your soul is calling you to, and you've got a gold mine.

But, life and circumstances warrant that I must continue on with where I have been placed for the time being. So, I will continue on. I am working on a new site and format for my writing, which brings so much clarity to my heart and soul and hopefully some good encouragement to others. Life is good in the Missouri Midwest, full of family, good friends, and an abundance of a growing community to fellowship with.

Will I eventually end up in Camden, Maine? Very possibly. I did make some good contacts of fellow farmers and resources while there. But I'm not packing my bags just yet. After all, there are still many things to accomplish here in the Midwest seasons of my life.

My Deepest Desire

I took a personality quiz, already knowing which answer best suited my identity, but I think it's fun to take one anyhow and read the demographic information.

This quiz was to find out which of the Four Tendencies I was: an Upholder, a Questioner, an Obliger, or a Rebel, all based on the studies and framework book by Gretchen Rubin.

I don't suppose the answer to the quiz is really all that important, at least not from the standpoint of making a blog post about it. Many of you who know me well can probably guess which one of those descriptive words best fits my personality. And, knowing which one we are and understanding the definition of the type and why we do what we do, can, I believe, help us to make our lives a bit happier.

But I think there's more.

I don't want to just dwell on whichever tendency best fits me, even though I already knew and the quiz pegged my personality. But if I don't take that information and choose to grow something more out of that situation or that personality trait or connotation, then I don't believe I'm fulfilling my true purpose.

Now I've gone off the deep end. Do we ever really know our true purpose? Well, if you've read any of my writings over the last several years, surely you've read somewhere that I believe we were put on this earth for two reasons: to worship and to serve. Any by loving others, we are serving and worshipping.

Exactly how that plays out, we may realize early on in life and for some of us, we might not figure it out until much later in our years. Either way, it's often an "aha" moment or a realization so extraordinary that it can't be anything other than our true purpose.

I heard a phrase a day or two ago, and it rang true with me. You see, I have a desire to make a difference. No, not change the world - that's asinine to think I can. But, I can make a difference to one person, who in turn can share that difference with one person and you've all heard this kind of reasoning before... eventually we may just reach the whole world.

I have a desire to encourage and empower others through my writings. My thoughts, my ramblings. (I know. I ramble. All. The. Time.) But if my ramblings can make a difference in one person's day, then I have succeeded in my highest calling. Because there's just not a big chance that that difference will stop there. It's in motion.

Have you ever tossed a stone into the water? Or watched the rain softly falling in a puddle? It's a motion effect that changes the surface of the water. A wave or tremor, a riffle or undulation. The best part? The motion. It's unstoppable. It's flowing and it can't be stopped. It's a natural occurrence. And it's beautiful, because the motion of water like this is soothing, encouraging, seemingly life-giving. And who wouldn't want that?

It's my desire.

I want to be a ripple.

The generous soul will be made rich, And he who waters will also be watered himself.
Proverbs 11:25 NKJV

Hope Will Sustain Us

My heart is heavy these days. Some days more than others. But my heart sank again just this past week when I received a message from fellow farming friends that they were done. Tired of fighting against Big Ag and the repercussions of living next door to a large, conventional operation.

I can't say I blame them. I understand their brokenness. Oh, I don't believe their souls are broken. But when we pour our hearts and souls into something we believe in only to not be able to fight against something bigger, our hearts break that we are not able to see what we think should be the end result of our labor.

I've been listening to podcasts during my big-girl job, which is mowing for the city I live in. Let me tell you, I've been through a LOT of podcasts after an 8-hour day on a mower! I was excited to hear that the person being interviewed on the podcast I was listening to was Jennifer Rothschild. If you remember, Jennifer and her crew from Lifeway Christian Stores came out early this year to do some video taping with the sheep for her next Bible study that's coming out next month.  I am blessed to consider Jennifer and her husband, Phil, friends. They are some of the most genuine folks I have met.

So when I got to hear Jennifer's story again, and the questions she was answering about being a happy, vibrant woman, it brought together everything that's been bottling up inside of me, adding to the heartache for friends like above.

Even on my worst days, I ALWAYS try to remind myself, no matter how low, broke, lonely, sad, depressed I am, there is ALWAYS, ALWAYS someone who has it worse off than me. Someone out there is having a worse day than I am. And considering, however low, broke, lonely, sad, depressed I am, I am still VERY blessed.  I am trying to focus on the things to be grateful for in my life. Even the low parts, for there we can learn.

So here I am, mowing through the tombstones (I work in a cemetery!), avoiding vases and flowers and listening to the hope and joy and faith in Jennifer's voice and it hits me like a big, marble headstone. And I lose it. I'm bawling. The inspiration is leaking out of my whole face, and not quietly, either. Thankfully I was on a loud mower, but I'm pretty sure the guys - they're all guys; I'm the only female - I work with were wondering what in blazes was wrong with me!

It's crazy how God brings the little things in our lives together to make a point. Just a day or so before, I had read some scripture that really caught my attention, but didn't drive the point home until after the podcast, after the message from my friends, after talking with one of my girlfriends and admitting how tired I was. I have to be honest, I've found myself feeling extremely tired these days. Not physically, so much, but mentally, spiritually. Tired enough to not know what I want to be when I grow up. Tired enough to want to chuck it all and make that move to Maine. Tired enough to just kind of disappear and start over.

But this scripture keeps popping back up. And my tribe of girlfriends sends me random texts. And it seems that somehow, maybe I've made a little glimmer of a difference in someone's life. And I realize that's all I really want. And it gives me hope.

No matter what, no matter where, no matter how low, broke, lonely, sad, depressed we are, we can hope. Hope will sustain us.

"The thought of my suffering and homelessness is bitter beyond words. I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this:
The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!'"
~Lamentations 3:19-24 NLT

Huckleberry Farm's PlumFund

This is a post I never dreamed I'd write, but then again, I reckon I never dreamed I'd be making the decision to begin life again on my own at 45. I'm writing this to give some background. To let you know why we are where we are. Another piece of my story in the never ending novel of life.

Many will say that we ask for what we get, good or bad. Maybe we do. I like to believe that, if we surrender our lives to {the reason I believe we are placed on this earth}, to worship and to serve, that we are nearly always placed exactly where we are supposed to be. It may not be what we dreamed of, and many times we certainly do not understand the five W's:  who, what, where, when, and why. But when we believe with our heart and soul that it's all going to work out for the greater good and our gut feeling reaffirms we are where we should be, if we stick it out, amazing things can and will happen.

Those who know me well enough know that I made a big decision a couple of years ago. A life altering decision. For months prior to that, life was becoming a place of uncertainty, everything I thought I had falling apart at the seams. Dreams shattered. Promises broken. Still, I trudged on. That's what we're supposed to do, right?

Looking back, we always see our situations more clearly. Now I see that those people reaching out to me were concerned for my wellbeing. The stories and explanations I was being told of why our lives were becoming so strapped and goals not being reached were selfish fabrications not centered and focused on our family unit,  but on one individual and that individuals' sole desires. The bills that were chosen to remain unpaid for years (yes, you read that correctly-years) were business accounts that were solely in my name, not joint accounts. The promises broken were not only personal. In fact, the majority of them probably didn't affect me directly. But indirectly, they hurt my very soul.

I will never forget the day that I had a grown man in tears, crying on my shoulder in my milk barn. The night before he had basically been told that he was stupid, he would never understand farming and the only thing he had to offer was labor. He had dedicated the previous two years of his life to the farm that he was supposedly not smart enough to be on and had a dream of having his own sustainable farm to support his growing family. But the complete insensitivity and lack of encouragement he had received the night before cut him to the core. And even though I was flabbergasted as the comments made to him, the best advice and support I could give him the next morning was that he only try and understand the person from whom those comments came. He was a stern man, being hardened by life himself, lacking empathy and ultimately, kindness.

Weeks later I realized how hurtful my own comments must have been. I offered no real advice or inspiration. No comfort or reassurance that he was working hard towards an attainable goal. I was crushed. Disappointed in myself. And I finally realized then what I had been avoiding and trying to cover up for years.

The light began to brighten and I began to fight for what I knew was right. I realized that our customers, friends and family should not have to be the ones to pay the high price for our selfish goals and desires. I realized that bigger wasn't always better and I had no desire to feed the world. If I couldn't even feasibly take care of my immediate community around me, how in tarnation would it even be a possibility to try to feed the world?

Long story short (or not!), my concerns, thoughts, opinions and arguments were not well received. In fact, they weren't given any merit at all. And I realized I was fighting a battle I could not win by staying on the front lines. I grew weary of being the one formulating explanations to define behaviors I couldn't comprehend. This was a battle that I would have to retreat from and re-engage from a different direction.

Fast forward. In May, 2016, I left the battle with the encouragement and support of my adult daughter, Taylor, and a very limited number of true friends close to the situation. And do you know one of the biggest concerns I had?  My customers. I couldn't say a word. We just disappeared off the face of the earth for several months. We were in hiding, I guess, to maintain the safety of our animals that we had taken with us. That's the only reason. Never was I worried about me. Nor my daughter about herself. But I feared for the safety and wellbeing of my Jersey cows and Taylor for her flock of sheep.

Truth of the matter is, had I said anything, I would never have been allowed to take my animals with me. They're my girls. My livelihood.  No one else put the time and effort into them that I did. And Taylor owned her sheep from the beginning when she purchased them at age 15.  Everything else we walked away from.

Everything. For me, that meant leaving behind 1,000 acres, the herd of beef cows, the pigs, sheep, laying hens, meat goats, vehicles, retail food, marketing and agri-tourism business, neighbors, friends, church, 16 years of everything.  Well, except the debt of those unpaid bills for our business that were in my name.  Remember those?  Yeah, I got to keep those.  Oh, and six chickens.  Of course, walking away without fighting for some monetary value from the history of 16 years was against the advice of everyone I confided in.  But you see, it was never about money for me.  It was never about feeding the world. And fighting for something that came with knowing there were moral and ethical issues attached for me was unfathomable.  Was walking away from everything against better judgement?  Maybe. Against peace of heart and mind?  Never. There was never a doubt that I was going exactly where I was supposed to be. 

The first few weeks after we left, I slept for a minimum of 12 hours nightly. I was exhausted. Mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally.  But I was at peace. Taylor and I got big girl jobs, maintaining our animals and working on beginning a new chapter in life.  We reconnected with old friends, made new ones, found a church home and began finding ourselves.

That was a year and a half ago. I won't tell you it's been all roses. We were all acclimating to a new life. For animals, that isn't always the easiest. Different forages bring different issues.  New places bring new concerns.  Taylor's sheep began lambing and seemingly overnight, before we realized what a problem we were having, a majority of her new lamb crop was devastated by coyotes and a soil issue on the farm we leased that we had not been informed of. That led to sleeping, literally, with the sheep every night.  We had been slowly looking for a farm to purchase as our intention has always been to find our own place, but when the landlord decided several months ago we could no longer graze the farm, but had to keep all of our animals in a confinement situation and only feed hay, the cost of our winter feeding we had prepared for quadrupled. Our search for a farm went into high gear. 

We found 30 acres with an old farm house and an old red barn, big enough to house the sheep if need be, with room to spare. And though we never really considered living in town, this quaint little farm was surrounded by the heart of Springfield, it's people. The possibilities and potential we immediately thought of encouraged and excited us. 

The owners graciously allowed us to move in prior to winter setting in while we continue to work on financing. But this is where we find bigger walls. About half of the financing we planned on was through USDA. And while this institution is purported to help farmers, it does not really have any use or support for farmers "like us". You know, we'd be considered crunchy in the world of farming. Crunchy because we're the ones who don't use chemicals to control bugs and weeds. Or artificial growth hormones to produce more milk or bigger beef. And no grains to our ruminant animals. No soy products or GMOs (genetically modified organisms). And we don't take babies away from their mommas until weaning age. You know. We operate the way we believe God intended things to grow. Naturally.  And we work directly with our customers, offering the final product ourselves with no middle men.  Therefore, the prices we receive for our products do not match up with what the agency utilizes to show income for the farm.  With the lack of records in my possession since my name was not included in the majority of the business of the farm I was married to, it's a difficult task to get them to understand or agree with our natural ways of farming.

This is where you come in.  I cannot explain the sense of peace I have had from the first time I walked into this old farmhouse or through the big old barn, imagining the animals that have wandered through.  I have walked these fences, through these animals and buildings and asked for God's blessings on the fields and animals for health and safety, blessings on the friends, families and customers that will walk these fields with us, blessings on the fun and events and gatherings of our friends and family here, blessings of fitness and health of all, animals and people calling this farm home, blessings on the finances to make this farm possible, and blessings on the faith in our hearts and what we will be able to share with all who come through Huckleberry Farm. But we can't do this without the financial support of our community. So far, we have been putting our dollars into the beginnings of making this dream a reality, but we are up against a very tight deadline to make it happen and the old "when it rains it pours" stage of starting a business over.

The vision and dream we have for our little farm is big.  No, not feed the world big, but big in importance and impact for the community. It's our biggest desire to make Huckleberry Farm a destination for the incredible community of Springfield and to give back to our community through fun, education, experiences, and memories. But it's only with the support of our local community that that will happen. So, we're swallowing our pride and asking for help. We're tearing down any walls that tell us we can do it all on our own and reaching out to you. We need our community. We need your support and encouragement. We need you to reach out to your friends and family and share our need. Our situation is not one of not being able to make payments.  What we are up against is that we don't have the ability to put any percentage of money down on the farm in order to purchase it.  Everything we add to our meager savings is continuing to go toward immediate needs to fix, repair, feed or sustain the animals we have.  You can be assured we will continue to pour our heart and souls work into making this dream become reality for the city of Springfield.  We are grateful and humbled by the outpouring of love and support already shown us by the neighbors living all around the farm. And we thank you all in advance from the bottom of our Farmher hearts.  

We can't wait to see what the future has in store for Huckleberry Farm and we want each of you to be a part of our dream. Our gates will (soon!) be open, inviting you in to experience a part of our story with us.  We believe in our dream and we believe in you, our community.

Remember the guy from the milk barn?  He and his family are operating their own little piece of sustainable farming heaven. Dreams do come true. 

Visit our PlumFund to donate here.

Follow Huckleberry Farm on Facebook.

Blessings~~
~dawnnell & taylor

Shepherdess

I don't really remember having a so-called hobby growing up. I reckon I did.  I reckon everyone does. I was involved in things I loved. I started twirling baton at age four and continued every year through high school graduation at age 17.  I loved it. I started piano lessons at six years of age, also continuing until I was 17. I began singing in church at four years old and haven't quit yet. My love of music has grown to include flute, string bass, and hammered dulcimer, all of which I still pursue to some extent. I became a competitive dancer at 20, learned to milk a cow in my 30's, and began writing from my heart and soul in my 40's. These are all things I love to spend time doing. 

I think some things can be more of a hobby than other things we love to do. Hobbies don't necessarily take huge amounts of our time or money. Sometimes they do. And sometimes those things we love become more than a hobby. More than just a weekend project every now and then. More than a temptation sitting in the spare bedroom that we might get to some day or one of those things we enjoy for a season but never seem to finish or perfect. 

Over the last decade and a half of my life, I've come to realize one of those loves. Something that moves my very existence. Something that proves my very existence. Something that gives me a future and a hope.  (Jeremiah 29:11)  The rock that keeps me grounded and gives me the desire to do what I do every day.  Every single day.  The one thing that gives me a peace and satisfaction like no other when I lay down at night and think of all I accomplished throughout the day. The one thing that keeps me awake at night when catastrophe or things beyond my control happen.  It's in my blood, it fuels my desires to better myself.  I long to continually learn and teach myself and in return, educate others of what I have learned.  It's not a hobby. It's one of the reasons I believe I was placed where I am today. Why I've experienced the life I have. Why I've met the people that have crossed my path.  Why, even through the curveballs life has thrown at me I am still driven with an even stronger desire to accomplish and share these great things. It's my passion. Maybe even my life's purpose. 

Taylor and I have been dealing with a major issue on the farm. A serious one. We've had a predator issue that we're having trouble getting ahead of.  There are critters of the night that seem to think the flock of sheep is nothing more than an all-night smorgasbord. But before anyone gets all excited about the critters of the night just wanting to eat and feed their babies, too, this post is not about that. Hang with me. 

Because of the issues at hand and because we care about our animals and what happens to them, we've been sacrificing our own comfort and sleep to spend our nights out in the pasture in the middle of the flock. We've spent many a night on the ground, in a lawn chair or in the truck keeping watch over our flocks. Old time shepherding, you might say.  When we're out, our efforts pay off. We're not really good at being extremely quiet and we're definitely not as sly as the fox that's likely watching us, but our presence seems to keep the predators at bay. 

Problems like this that arise on a farm never go unnoticed, but can sometimes escalate quickly before you realize you have a serious issue. The issue can become financially devastating overnight, not to mention the sheer heartache of it all.  Losses can take years to overcome and sometimes can never be regained. 

I've had a handful of folks, mostly city folk, (and I say that lightly. I'm merely referring to those who have no experience or real knowledge of farm life), that have basically asked us when we're quitting. What's it gonna take for us to sell out and move to the city?  How many livestock lost is too many?  Why not let the "big" farmers handle it, cut our losses and continue working a "real" job like everyone else?

To put one of those questions to rest, one livestock animal lost is too many.   To answer the other questions, read on. 

Remember that desire, that purpose, that passion I spoke of earlier?  I have a desire to do what I'm called to do. A desire to do good things.  Big things. Not necessarily by the world's  standards, but big in the eyes of kindness and love. I believe I was put here for a purpose. A purpose of loving and serving and being a rich caretaker of this precious world we were given. No, not monetarily rich. Rich in awe and wonder of the beauty and magnificence of God's creation. Rich in the understanding of a humble calling to be able to be touched by the simple blessings of being a caretaker of the world around me. I have a passion for the wellbeing of the animals and land I am blessed to have charge over. I have a passion to raise and care for these things entrusted to me in a way that brings honor to the God of the universe. I believe God made things to work together in a natural, symbiotic way and it's not only my responsibility but my passion to enrich and encourage those natural relationships. I have a passion to share my experiences and learning with the world. I have a passion to leave things a little better and to help educate the next generation. 

So when I'm asked what the defining moment is that will make me decide to sell out, chuck it all  and move to the city, you have to understand one thing. That question is not even in my thought process. It doesn't exist.  You see, this farming venture is more than a hobby.  More than a weekend project. It's a responsibility that I believe was written in the stars for me long ago. It's my desire.  My purpose.  My passion.  And my prayer is that I will be able to fulfill that purpose with passion and desire and never lose sight of the hope and faith that keeps me doing what I do. 

Let the Dead Things Go

This.  I fell in love with this quote.  It's time to pay attention.  Pay attention to the changing seasons around us.  Life is so full of seasons.  The obvious outdoors, but also of love, friends, circles.  Life, death and decay exist in all levels of our seasons.  And we must let each season have it's time.  When relationships are alive, let them live.  When relationships are dying, let them die because it is only after death that decay happens and allows new life to spring forth.  And that new life only makes us stronger and more empowered.  It grows and blossoms more richly and more beautifully than ever before.

A beautiful friend told me days ago it was time to move on from a dead situation.  To just live.  No what ifs.  No regrets.  And I think he was right.  Now, we can't ignore our circumstances and just hope for the best.  We have to face them, daily.  But if we face them with the knowledge of what season they are in, we will be able to see the loveliness of the changing of the seasons and be free to live, stronger and more empowered.

Reality slapped me in the face this week.  Not the typical get off your butt and get busy, you're running late kind of reality.  But the reality of something so negative that had filled my life for so long it eventually took over until I was like a dilapidated building ready to implode, which I did.

The irony is that the old reality that camel slapped me in the head is no longer my reality.  Because you see, I come from a long line of Hughes' with really big heads.  Literally.  And a camel slap to me is just another day.  An occupational hazard, you might say.  But I was forced to be strong and face this reality head on.  (No pun intended!)  And you know what?  I did.  I did not try to revive and bring that dead reality back to life.  And although I was nervous and shaking and scared, I let the strength of the new life growing in this season take over and burst through the decay that was trying to keep me suffocated under it all.  And I told it to go and not come back.  And when that old reality walked out of the bar where I was working, I slumped to the floor and released all of the suffocating death and decay still lingering.  And with the strong hand of a friend, I got up off the floor, wiped my eyes, and took a deep breath of the new life I am embracing, stronger and more empowered than ever before.  And I realized something.  The old, dying reality?  It will only continue to get weaker until it is completely decayed.  And the new life in me?  It will only continue to grow in a richer environment through that death and decay.  And it will be beautiful and strong and vibrant.

I am entering a beautiful new season in my life.  I love the circles and relationships and new life happening all around me.  I choose to let the dead things go and let new life spring up.  Pay attention to the seasons, my loves, especially this one.  Let the trees show us how lovely it is to let the dead things go.