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.

As a general practice when you buy a goat you always make sure that the breeder has tested for CAE, CL, and Johne’s diseases. That is common sense. If you’re bringing a new animal into your herd then you’re going to quarantine the animal as well.

On our small farm, with a closed herd, (meaning we don’t bring new animals onto the property,) we test yearly for the above-mentioned diseases, which have always tested negative.

We know every breeding is different. Every kidding is different. Every goat is different. And there are always the unknowns. I don’t think it makes any difference how long you have owned goats, there will always be instances that you never expect, or have experienced before.

That’s what happened to us this year.

Our sweet Willow was enormous during her last month of pregnancy. At that time she started a circling behaviour which we attributed to the weight of the kids she was carrying. We discussed with both our vet and mentor whether it might be pregnancy toxemia. This was ruled out as a possibility.

She kidded two bucklings that were huge. One was 10.8 pounds and the other was 11.2 pounds. 22 pounds of kids tucked into her body.

What we don’t know and never will know is whether or not she contracted listeria in that last month of pregnancy or perhaps the kids were pressing on a nerve or muscles either during the pregnancy or the kidding itself. She needed assistance because both kids were badly presented: one had head back and the other was breech.

Because the kids were pulled we gave her a vet prescribed five day course of antibiotics. We also gave a nutrient blend called Gluco Guard and a B vitamin complex. In the ten weeks that followed, we gave her a variety of vet prescribed treatments: Metacam as we knew she was in discomfort, a five day course of Thiamine as a safeguard against PEM, (Polioencephalomalacia), Gluco Guard, and antibiotics, all because she was not recovering.

Willow’s appetite was up and down. She was clearly in discomfort and uncomfortable lying down. Most concerning of all were several fainting/seizure spells. Ten weeks after kidding, she had her third episode. She would suddenly go down, be briefly disoriented, and then recover within seconds and behave as though nothing had happened.

At this point, after thoroughly discussing treatment plans with our vets and considering possibilities including Listeriosis, PEM, muscle damage during birth, or another neurological event, what was clear to all of us is that there was something neurological going on. We had treated her for the possibilities we could, and she was not responding or improving. 

I think we sometimes expect a tidy answer to everything. But sometimes, even after exploring every possibility, there isn’t a definitive answer. With Willow, we never knew exactly what caused her neurological problems. What we did know was that she was suffering, she wasn’t improving, and we had to make the decision we believed was the kindest one for her.

On the farm we have the means to dispatch an animal humanely and quickly. This is something we would use only as an absolute last resort. With our sweet Willow, this was not our first choice. It would never be our first choice.

With heavy, heavy hearts, we drove her to our vet to be humanely euthanized. We think this is a gentle and loving closure for Willow.

We are profoundly sad. All the animals are experiencing the lack of her presence differently and it’ll take time to get used to not seeing her.

It might sound strange, but her passing was beautiful. She remained in the truck, tailgate down, on a glorious sunny morning. She was lying down and was calm, sweet and lovely. It was the first time in months that she was able just to rest. She was such a beautiful soul.


She will be cremated and her ashes scattered in a field.

Vale, sweet Willow. The land of eternal browse.


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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.