Decisions are rarely straightforward and rarely have one answer.

What may look like a simple decision often brings many things into play, such as: the animal, the farm, finances, future plans, time, experience, and frequently — my lack of experience.

I’ve spoken of Willow’s kidding elsewhere, but it caused a major shift in how Point 6 Acre thinks about the future in 2026 and 2027.

My concerns with Willow’s health after kidding resulted in conversations with my friend and mentor, and the vet. I decided Willow goes into retirement once I stop milking her. We’re now in a position of having less milk for home use and soap-making for part of the year. We assumed we’d be able to alternate breeding the goats thereby having a goat in milk year-round.

Enter the unknowns: 

Do I need to replace Willow with another doe? 
One already in milk? 
Will Elora, who is slightly overweight, breed in the fall? It will be her first-freshening (first kidding). 
Will there be enough milk from Willow to freeze for soap production? 
Will Elora kid easily? That’s a complete unknown.

These were several questions (amongst many) I asked. I also asked about milk production, and a potential breeding buck.

I was given two different perspectives from people whose views matter to me. Each shared their experiences and knowledge with me.

As always, I was left with some decisions to make.

I believe it makes sense to try to breed Elora in the fall and even though Willow’s next kidding might be uneventful, I’ve decided to retire Willow from breeding. Regarding the purchase of another doe, that isn’t financially feasible. 

Once the Boys, Willow’s current twin kids, are weaned, there will be milk for home use and soap production. 

Things rarely fit neatly into a spreadsheet. Even a small farm is constantly juggling and balancing things, and sometimes decisions like alternating milking two does so there’s milk throughout the year, just have to wait.

A visitor here sees:

Goats, and maybe goat kids

Soap

A small farm

What they don’t see are the observations, conversations, and second-guessing that happens on a continuous basis.

Often the decisions made aren’t the ones made with the quickest answer. They’re the ones made with enough information, reflection, and willingness to change course when something new is learned. And even then, the outcome might be unexpected.

The farm keeps changing. So do the decisions that keep it working.

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.

Sometimes enough is well and truly enough.

In this context, I’m talking about the ducks.

I love them dearly, but really? Enough already! It’s like someone held up a sign that read: 

Auditions for Lame Ducks — Enter Here. 
Please Wait Your Turn.

The latest to emerge from the duck house limping is the oldest girl. I wonder if, in their morning rush to get outside, they step on one another? Whatever the cause, they go into the duck house perfectly fine and come out the next morning limping. What’s up — or, in this case, down — with that? 

When I consider how many years I’ve had the ducks, I’ve been surprisingly lucky. It is understandable to lose birds now and then to predators, or the need to re-home an aggressive drake, and the only other case of bumblefoot I experienced was years ago with one of the chickens. 

It seems 2026, at least thus far, is the year for animal health issues. It’s certainly keeping this farmer busy.

Moments like this make me appreciate how much responsibility comes with caring for animals, whether there are a few or a few hundred. I truly admire those who manage larger farms and animals.

Between the ducks taking turns going lame and Willow with her challenging labour and return to health, I admit I feel exhausted. 

Now, more than ever, I take my own advice: sustainability for the human. To care for the lame ducks, I also have to care for myself.

Blog posts and YouTube videos often paint rosy pictures of life on a farm — no matter the size. They can make life seem easier than it actually is. It is understandable to want to share the fun images and not want to turn people off with the realities of sick or aging animals —but that’s all part of being a steward, of managing livestock and poultry.

We are all of us, living creatures. We are not immune to injury or down days. 

Even in the midst of this wave of lame ducks and difficult goat births, I witness love, joy, and a wonderful sense of humour that lifts me up every day. 

Some days enough really is enough. Then a duck starts wagging her tail because she’s feeling better, or The Boys race past at full speed while Dawg looks on adoringly. Somehow the day feels lighter.

Perhaps that’s another kind of enough.

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.