It has already cost us.

This post taken from Cultivating the Beautiful Life, my Substack newsletter. Subscribe here.

Tugging on the crusty, stiff overalls, I tromped my way through the snow again. I’d worn a path over the past few days, trudging up and down the driveway and through the pastures, anxiously looking for signs of imminent labor in our small flock of sheep.

The lambs should’ve been on the ground by now…

In truth, we’ve never have late lambings, usually finishing by the end of January. It’s normal for us to welcome lambs onto piles of hay amongst fields of snow, the mothers quickly cleaning them off and offering their warm milk as a peace offering for the cold welcome into the world. This year is no different, at least in the cold department. Five fresh inches of powder cover the ground that previously had promised the first tastes of spring - blue bird skies and sun-warmed skin. What a glorious day it would have been to welcome lambs.

But truth be told, any day would do.

Yet whether or not they make their appearance before the planned departure, we’re going.

Any farming memoir will quickly cover the facts about farming that are immovable: one of those, of course, is the fact that the farm never stops. There are no days off, no weekends, no holidays - animals still need assistance on Fourth of July weekend and during the most raging of winter storms. It’s the nature of… well, nature.

When we decided to actually make our big trek to Italy, we knew it would mean stepping away from our responsibilities here on the homestead. We also knew that stepping away from our responsibilities means that it will cost us something.

These are the laws of nature. Even though we’ve only been in Italy for slightly less than a week now, it already has. I’m not quite ready to share the details of our loss of Pepper, but I will in coming days. One needs time to grieve. And I do grieve for her.

But knowing that we only have a few summers left with our oldest daughter, Georgia, meant that we were willing to make these sacrifices. Initially, we wanted to experience this wonderful place with our children, put a piece of it in their heart, offer them an experience outside of their norm, open their eyes to the wider world, and show them them that there are beautiful people and places all over. We wanted an adventure together, as a family of six, before life changes. There will be coming years (God willing) of spouses and grand-children… life will expand and spread… and our little family of six will change. Though we cannot hold time still, we can use the time that we have to put as many deposits into their little life-accounts that we can. Time as a family is an investment.

Still, investments do not come without risks - or at the very least, sacrifice.

So we sacrifice this for that. The known for the unknown. Being present here for being present there. Full control of the farm for a rest of our labors. Not better, not worse, just different.

We have a farm-sitter that will be at our home full time. She will account for the daily chores, including feeding and watering the livestock, gathering eggs and tending to the chickens, making sure the dogs and cats are well and accounted for… down to watering the house-plants and gathering the mail. There’s a lot of moving pieces here on our working homestead.

Yet as any shepherd knows, no one knows or cares for their sheep like they would. I think of the scripture “He knows me by name…”. The shepherd does. I know my sheep, their habits, quirks, tendencies, and behaviors. I smell of them, the lanolin seeping into my work clothes and hands in their presence. One change of habit, one raised ear, is enough for the shepherd to be alerted. It is a beautiful tapestry of dominion and servanthood, they submit to our rule and we, in turn, submit to their welfare in every possible way.

Unfortunately, for all farm sitters, they’re jumping into the middle of a dance between shepherd and flock… of gardener and soil… of alpha and subjects. This is a tall order indeed. I’m asking a farm-sitter to step into a long standing conversation between myself and my farm, my land, and to see it with eyes that have taken me years to acquire. Quite simply, an impossible task.

So perhaps it was a terrible idea, to step away from the garden beds and ewes that happily lay in the pasture, chewing their cud and growing their lambs. And yet…

We’re gone.

Love my land as I do, I am very much looking forward to this intimate time with my family. A time to step away, breathe different air, be alone with my thoughts…

…perhaps even sit still?

It’s a time of hello to a new journey. And goodbye, for a time, to the familiar.

And speaking of time away, two rooms remain for our Che Vita Getaway to Umbria, Italy this coming October. If you’d like to join us for this wonderful week, you can learn more about it right here.

More soon ❤️

Love,