Farm life is feeling way more normal. In fact, it's become a passion. I'm loving how this life is changing me. I care about things I wouldn't even have thought about four years ago.
One thing is, I care that the food I eat is coming from my own pasture. That I have the ability and space to grow my own food, maybe even year round if the book I found on Amazon is correct.
And that's different, too. Where once I rummaged around on Amazon looking for romances to read, I'm now consumed with desires to find a new gardening book. Or better yet, a memoir written by someone who also moved to a farm and writes about their discoveries of farming/country life.
I'm in love with discovering all I can about this different way of living. To my farm friends this will sound very strange. Many have lived in small towns for years, many have gardened for years, and raised animals for food and for companionship most of their lives. They may not completely understand what a change this is for someone who was all city inside and out.
Before coming to the farm I didn't know where my food really came from. Had no idea how to care for any animal beyond a dog or a cat. Had never successfully grown anything in a garden that I would even consider eating. Hadn't pickled or canned anything. And didn't have a clue what dehydrating was about. My total knowledge about beef jerky was that it could be bought in a mini-mart and guys liked it. Now I've learned about and participated in doing all these things and it's amazingly satisfying.
And that's new, too. I would never have thought that simple things could provide such a deep sense of value or bring such richness to life. I thought I had a very rich life in the city.
In Seattle we owned a nice home on a beautiful shady lot that backed up against a protected greenbelt. Everything and more than we could want was only a 15 minute drive away. Countless forms of entertainment were readily available every night of the week. Our jobs were satisfying - they provided the challenges we both needed to feel successful. It all seemed like enough.
But, living here on this farm has proven that there is so much more to living. All those other things are good. But I don't really have to drive for 15 minutes to find all I could want any more. My front porch is heaven.
When I need entertainment, I've got friends to call or I can sit on a tree stump in my goat pasture and watch the kids play or lavishly pet and coo over the older does who have lined up to be petted.
I'm also finding it amazing how the camaraderie of those with like purposes really enriches a life - and I don't mean as with co-workers. I mean as with people whose passions and interests are the same. Whether it's my awesome group of writing friends at our twice monthly critique group or a rowdy group of goat breeders around the show ring, there is something special about being with people who share a love for something you love too. It's bigger and better than an expensive dinner at a nice restaurant or even a theater production with all the bells and whistles. You just don't come home from these moments disappointed if some element of the event didn't work out right - because the people you are with made it worthwhile regardless of whether your goats placed well or not or if your story fell flat and needs a lot more work.
And even without our city jobs we don't lack for challenges.
Recently we faced the challenge of a very sick doe. Of course, she was a favorite. We'd waited for months for her to be born and then spent more months marveling over how beautifully she was growing. I'd personally spent time watching her in the pasture imagining what a great doe she would be and all the wonderful kids she would have. So when she became sick it was particularly challenging to hope with every minute of effort we put into trying to save her that we would make a difference only to face the bleak understanding that we didn't.
Keeping my husband company while he dug her grave and buried her, I realized this challenge wasn't about being right or wrong, failing or succeeding. It wasn't about pleasing a boss or angling for a raise.
It was about growing into someone different. Someone who cries over the loss of a goat.
Someone who realizes it's not important what you get from the challenges in life, but what you become because of them.
To people in the city, that might sound silly. To those of us out here whose lights at night are tiny dots in the darkness, it makes complete sense.
