A bumper crop of Hua Jiao (Szechuan Pepper) this year!
Harvesting is only the beginning. The husks need to be sorted, dried, cleaned, and separated from the inedible hard black seeds before they’re ready to use. It’s a time-consuming process, but the result is well worth the effort.
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‘Tis the season for banded woolly bear caterpillars! Who knows where they’re going but they certainly motor along as if they’re on a mission!
This is the larva of the tiger moth. Doesn’t it have a magnificent fur jacket!
Generally harmless, when touched they’ll curl into a ball. I’ve moved many away from pathways. Though they don’t seem to bother me, their bristles can irritate sensitive skin.
I wonder where it’s headed?
As usual, I thought I was moving toward a plan. Instead, I discovered that small farming doesn’t move in a straight line.
This year seems to have been one thing after another. Some things have forced decisions while others have simply changed the timetable.
It’s a question I ask myself: What do I do when the whole picture keeps changing?
What do I do?
Sitting in uncertainty is uncomfortable. Plans like kidding, breeding schedules, soap making, health—both mine and the animals—are hinged together. The longer I live this life, the more I realize I need to be flexible.
When things pivot, it’s harder to see Point 6 Acre five years from now.
At the end of the day, I’m still here, still looking, still learning, still building.
I know that I love this life and am figuring things out. And that’s okay. I’ll probably always be figuring things out. Like the gardens this year, some things were a bust but others came through with an abundance.
And that’s the point, I think. There is always an abundance of something somewhere. An abundance of love from the animals even when I’m feeling cranky and tired. They buoy my spirits, make me laugh, and bring me joy. And even though I feel the gardens were a bust, there was an abundance of grapes, plums, apples, and even some hazelnuts that I can both harvest for myself and share with friends.
That’s what keeps me going, even when I’m sitting in uncertainty.
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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.
Morning chores here are a mixture of goats, ducks, water buckets, weekly cleaning the duck house, feeding the Boys, and all the little jobs that make up everyday life on a small farm.
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