It happens irregularly. I can't really find a consistent pattern. But every now and then, my eyes fill up with tears (or I at least think they should be filling up even if they aren't cooperating) and I want to just throw in the towel.Most often it is when JB is on a tough stretch of work at the hospital. He was busy yesterday doing his 5th shift in 7 days (and one of those was a sleeping day as he was coming off nights.) It was Sunday. I was trying to get everyone to church. We were processing turkeys the next day. We had a friend coming in town, a WWOOFer leaving, a sick WWOOFer -- you know the type of things that have you teetering a bit.
And then I drove up to our farm after church to see that all our ewes and found their way out of their enclosure.
I wanted to scream.
In fact I stayed calm. Myself, my father-in-law and one of our WWOOFers patiently got all the sheep back home. They hadn't completely decimated the fence like they had done a few days back so it was a relatively easy fix.
(We are investigating why the sheep keep getting out. We are wondering if a predator is scaring them or they have just learned how to out-smart the fence.)
But inside I was stewing and having major doubt and self-talk with myself. This is too hard. You can't succeed. You aren't a farmer. This was your husband's dream.
As usual, when I feel this way, I shoot JB a text. He listens patiently and doesn't even bring up the fact that he had lost two patients in 12 hours and had to sit down with two different families and discuss their loved ones deaths.
Perspective.
The emotion passes. I truly know we are supposed to be here. We have agreed that we need to cut back, and we are working on that. No life is perfect. Nothing goes smoothly all the time. But this farming thing?
I always thought college basketball conditioning and motherhood and teaching a class of high school seniors all on the verge of flunking were some of the hardest things I ever did.
But this ranks up there.
Hangin' in there and keepin' it real,
1 comment:
The only thing we know for certain is that we know nothing for certain. This is never more true than with farming (or dealing with nature in any way). Though farming made me more zen than I have ever been in my life (even in the difficult times of loss and chaos), it still could be overwhelming for sure. Like the time I was the only one home as a tropical storm rolled through. There's no way I could get all the sheep and goats into the barn by myself so I did the only thing I could do. In high winds and torrential rain, I had to go out and build a make-shift lean-to for them to take shelter in (we had lambs and kids out there as well). I had to go back out and fix said lean-to 3 times throughout the night during the storms. It was scary and overwhelming and I was SO sore, but when your sheep see you and come running to greet you like they're puppies, it's all worth it. Man, I miss being on the farm. Point is, you're doing amazing. You've got little kiddos and an entire farm to run. You've got this!
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