Spring work on a small piece of land rarely unfolds exactly as planned.

In recent years, weather patterns have become increasingly unpredictable. Seasons alternate between unseasonably hot, cold, wet, or dry — often with little consistency from one year to the next.

If anything, the past several years have shown there is no Goldilocks happy medium. 

This Spring seems no different, with one exception: garden prep derailed when I got shingles the second week of April. Not fun! Now, I’m largely asymptomatic but still get the occasional nerve twinge reminding me when I’ve overdone it. One task at a time, I’m slowly getting back into the rhythm of spring work.

With very little spring rain this year, we are grateful to have secured the 330 gallon livestock tank water along with an additional 5000 litres of water in the IBC totes if needed. Drought seems to be the norm, and as gardeners, it’s up to us to remain optimistic and learn which crops can tolerate both heat and less water.

While there are a few things planted already: broad beans and peas are doing well; if we get pole and bush beans, a couple tomato plants and some peppers in, we’ll be happy. If there’s less planted in the garden this year, that’s okay — we can support local.

Small farms and gardens aren’t linear. Whether it’s animals, structures, or personal health, if there’s anything we’ve learned over the years, it’s the ability to pivot and change plans when necessary. Instead of maximizing, sometimes enough, is enough.

A garden doesn’t care about perfect timing. It responds to attention, weather, persistence, and adaptability. There is always something to be done — beds to prepare, weeds to pull, crops to plant, and lessons to learn.

We try to produce as much of our food as possible, and some years, like this one, we need to slow down and our production will be less — then, we rely on other local farms to help sustain us.

Season by season, we witness this small patch of land evolve.

Warmly,

Brin

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Brin writes about the quieter lessons of small farm life – ducks in the morning, goats in the barn, and the slow work of tending a small piece of land. Between animal chores, soap making, and reflexology work, she reflects on what it means to live well, live simply, and discover what “enough” really looks like.

According to Cambridge Dictionary, Sustainability is, “the quality of being able to continue over a period of time.”

Most conversations around sustainability focus on land, livestock, gardens, infrastructure, systems, and production. We talk about sustainable farming, sustainable homesteading, sustainable food systems, and sustainable living.

I’ve come to believe sustainability isn’t just about the land, animals, gardens, or systems. The human being sustaining those systems matters too.

Point 6 Acre is home. A sanctuary built from persistence, planning, and love. To be surrounded by such incredible beauty and miraculous things fills me with joy, but maintaining this kind of life carries a price. 

In today’s focused, driven world, where sustainability and homesteading are words bandied about effortlessly, with videos showing how to do things only a click away, it’s easy to feel driven. It was easy to push myself without considering the physical, emotional, and financial costs of my efforts.

Broken ribs and shingles. Two painful wake-up calls that knocked the stuffing out of me, because the farm doesn’t stop.

How do we build systems that nourish instead of consume us?

I  believe human sustainability is built through:

* A meaningful life.
* Holding beauty alongside grief.
* Refining systems so they require less effort.
* Learning gentleness.
* Tending living things.
* Tending myself too.
* Reflection.
* Laughter.
* Rest.
* Planning a little ahead – not too far.

There are days when I’m overwhelmed and want to quit everything.

On those days, I sit with Dawg. I sit with the goats. I watch the ducks. I drink tea. And in that sitting, my breathing slows, the tension in my chest eases, my shoulders drop, and I can appreciate everything I’ve built here and know in my heart that taking time to rest is okay.

Warmly,

Brin

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Brin writes about the quieter lessons of small farm life – ducks in the morning, goats in the barn, and the slow work of tending a small piece of land. Between animal chores, soap making, and reflexology work, she reflects on what it means to live well, live simply, and discover what “enough” really looks like.