Fable Farmstead

Fable Farmstead Fable Farmstead is a mission-driven, family-run, organic farm.

Me, somewhere around age four or five.I grew up genuinely American. It was all I knew. And yet I never quite looked it. ...
04/22/2026

Me, somewhere around age four or five.

I grew up genuinely American. It was all I knew. And yet I never quite looked it. I also never felt Taiwanese, having grown up with no connection to that culture at all.

For most of my childhood I existed somewhere between two identities without fully belonging to either. Not enough of one. But also not enough of the other.

I didn’t have language for that feeling then. I’m not sure it needs language. It was just quietly there, the way certain things are when you’re a kid. A background hum.

“Maybe because I don’t know my own history and therefore am drawn to the histories that feel relevant to my daily life a...
04/17/2026

“Maybe because I don’t know my own history and therefore am drawn to the histories that feel relevant to my daily life and can be traced.”

I’ve been sitting with this thought for a while. The full essay is on Substack, link in bio.

📷:

Winslow and me, outside our barn at Riverside Farm. This was our first farm, an early-1800s farmhouse in southern Maine....
04/17/2026

Winslow and me, outside our barn at Riverside Farm. This was our first farm, an early-1800s farmhouse in southern Maine. We were newly engaged and well rested (no kids yet!).

I’ve always been drawn to old things. Old houses, old letters, old photographs of people I’ll never meet. Basically anything old enough to have its own story.

For a long time I thought it was just a personality quirk. A fondness for history. A tendency to romanticize and imagine.

Perhaps it was something else. Perhaps it was a way of reaching for roots when I didn’t know where my own were or how to start finding them.

More on that soon.

I’ve been an adoptee my whole life, obviously. But this year I became something I didn’t think I’d ever be. Someone who ...
04/10/2026

I’ve been an adoptee my whole life, obviously. But this year I became something I didn’t think I’d ever be. Someone who knows.

I was adopted from Taiwan in 1987, raised in America, and this past January I traveled back and met my birth mother for the first time. I’m 38. It took that long, and also it happened faster than I expected once I decided to try.

There’s a story here I want to tell properly. It’s about adoption and identity and belonging and becoming. About growing up not looking like anyone who loved you. About what you find when you finally go looking, and what finds you back.

I’ll be sharing it here over the coming months. The fuller essays will live on Substack, link in bio, for anyone who wants to settle in with it.
I’m glad to have people to tell it to.

📷:

There is a particular kind of peace that I only find in certain places. Deep in the woods. At the edge of a field while ...
04/07/2026

There is a particular kind of peace that I only find in certain places. Deep in the woods. At the edge of a field while the sun is setting. Somewhere old enough to have held other lives and stories before my own.

I have always sought those places out. I used to think it was just temperament, my preference for quiet, for the unhurried company of trees and birds and whatever moved through the grass ahead of me (preferably not big creepy bugs, but I am slowly coming to appreciate them more).

I’m starting to think it was something else. Something I didn’t have the context for yet.

(More on that, slowly, as the year unfolds.)

It’s been a quiet few months over here. Quieter on this account than in real life, anyway.This winter, something happene...
04/03/2026

It’s been a quiet few months over here. Quieter on this account than in real life, anyway.

This winter, something happened that I’m still finding words for. I flew to Taiwan. I met someone I had wondered about my whole life. I came home different.

I’ve been sitting with all of it since, on the farm, with my kids, in the (rare) quiet moments throughout the day. Trying to figure out where to start.

I think this is how.

Over the coming weeks I’m going to share a story here. It’s about adoption and identity and belonging. About the land, and why I’ve always loved it the way I do. About loss, and motherhood, and what it means to find out at 38 where you actually come from.

Some of it will be here in smaller pieces. The longer essays will be over on Substack for those who want to sit with it properly. Link in bio.

Thank you for still being here.

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