JK Orchard and Farm

06/18/2026

💜2026 Raspberry Season Update💜

After weeks of monitoring the raspberry patch, we've made the difficult decision not to open for U-pick or pre-picked raspberries this season.

The fruiting canes started the season looking healthy and loaded with berries, but week after week more canes began yellowing and declining before the fruit could ripen. Meanwhile, the new canes coming up for next year's crop are healthy, vigorous, and plentiful.

Sometimes the land tells you what it needs, and this year it seems to be asking for rest.

While we won't have raspberries in 2026, we'll be focusing on restoring the patch, caring for our bees, and preparing for a stronger season ahead.

We know many of you look forward to raspberry season each year, and this wasn't an easy decision. However, once we made it, we both felt an immediate sense of relief that it was the right choice for our farm and us.

Like most difficult decisions, there were signposts along the way trying to get our attention that this year was going to require something different from us.

From loss to broken equipment, the universe kept sending us signs. Literal ones too.... our JK Orchard & Farm sign was blown apart during a winter storm.

I remember looking at Joe and asking, "Is that a sign that our sign is gone?"

If you'd like to read the full story with some of the more personal reasons behind this decision, I've shared it in our latest farm email. The link is included in the comments.

And just because we're taking a pause on raspberries doesn't mean we're going anywhere. I'll still be sharing farm updates and musings from my writing. I'll also keep you posted on honey availability later in the season, and spring pollen is currently available for those who have been asking.

Thank you for your understanding and continued support of our little farm. 💕

~Karen

05/31/2026

As we head into the 2026 raspberry season, we wanted to share a quick update for both our longtime customers and those who have recently discovered JK Orchard & Farm.

We are a small organic farm specializing in raspberries, honey, and bee pollen.

A few things have changed over the years, so to avoid confusion:

🛑We are not open to the public and a reservation is required to visit the farm.

🍓 We no longer grow strawberries and do not offer U-pick strawberries.

🌻 We no longer grow sunflowers or flowers for U-pick or public sale.

📷 The farm is not open as a photography venue or for photos.

🐝 We currently offer spring bee pollen via online orders for farm pick up by appointment. Fall pollen and honey will be announced late summer.

🫐 Raspberry season is expected to begin around Father's Day and continue through approximately the Fourth of July, depending on weather and berry production.

This season we plan to offer both, online orders for farm pick up and a few weekend U-pick opportunities by reservation.

As always, thank you for supporting our small farm. We look forward to another raspberry season and seeing many familiar faces, along with some new ones, in the weeks ahead.

04/08/2026

Finally getting the chance to do a Spring hive inspection to see how everyone faired over the winter.

Unfortunately only 1 have overwintered, but there was a good amount of honey left so hopefully we can harvest it in a couple weeks and have some honey available again.

Zoom in on the last picture and check out those pollen panties. Joe said when they are "red" like that those are from the dandelion pollen. 🌼

04/08/2026

Sun’s out, bees are out 🐝
Spring is doing its thing.

04/03/2026

The farm is waking up with spring. 🌷 The daffodils are in full bloom, the tulips are starting to come up, the raspberries are budding, and the bees are buzzing.

Joe and I are really enjoying the slower pace this year, without all the work and hustle the strawberries would be bringing right now.

If you’re out this way, slow down and take in the beauty of the daffodils and tulips as you drive by. Give us a toot too if you see us out.

01/22/2026

After sharing last night, I realized the in-between deserves more space.

That space so many of us find ourselves in right now, where the old way of being no longer fits, but the new way hasn’t fully come online yet.

It’s a strange place to stand.

The mind wants to move forward.
To make sense of it.
To figure it out.
To reach for something familiar that once worked.

And I watched myself do exactly that.

I could see my mind trying to revert back to old survival strategies. Ways of thinking, pushing, and meaning-making that once kept me functional. Strategies that helped me survive earlier chapters of my life.

But this time, they didn’t work.

Every time I tried to lead from my mind, my body collapsed.

Not dramatically. Not all at once.

But through exhaustion. Through anxiety. Through a deep, visceral sense of “I can’t do this anymore.”

That’s when I realized this next evolution could not be solved in the mind.

The in-between is uncomfortable precisely because the mind keeps reaching for answers that no longer exist.

It wants to recreate certainty.
It wants to restore identity.
It wants to rebuild meaning the same way it always has.

But the body knows when something is over.

And my body knew that striving, proving, and pushing forward the way I used to wasn’t just unhelpful anymore, it was actually causing collapse.

So I stopped overriding it.

Not because I had a better plan.
Not because I knew what came next.

But because my body had become the most honest source of information I had.

The in-between asks something different of us.

It asks us to stop trying to become something new before we’ve allowed what’s old to fully dissolve.

It asks us to tolerate not knowing.
To let meaning reorganize slowly.
To stay present without forcing clarity or hope.

This space can feel terrifying.

It can feel like you’re losing your mind.
Like everything that once held you together has fallen away.
Like the ground underneath you is gone and nothing has replaced it yet.

It can feel like dying.

Not physical death, but the death of who you thought you were, how you made sense of yourself, how you survived, how you knew your place in the world.

The loneliness here isn’t just emotional. It’s existential.

Grief shows up without a clear cause.
Fear shows up without an object.
Your nervous system is on high alert, while your mind can’t find a story that explains why.

And that combination can make you feel like you’re going crazy.

You’re not.

But this space isn’t a mistake.

It’s what happens when survival strategies finally lose their grip and truth starts to take the lead.

What I see now, looking back, is that my body was never the problem.

It was the key.

It knew when the old ways of coping had run their course.
It knew when my mind was trying to take me backwards instead of forward.
It knew that forcing myself to “figure it out” was no longer safe.

The pause wasn’t failure. It was intelligence.

If you find yourself in this in-between right now, where effort feels hollow, old motivations no longer drive you, and your body seems to resist everything your mind suggests, nothing has gone wrong.

You may simply be in a season where the answers can’t be thought into existence.

Where listening matters more than striving.
Where honesty matters more than momentum.
Where the body is asking to lead for a while.

This space doesn’t mean you’re stuck. It means something real is reorganizing.

And that kind of becoming doesn’t happen in the mind.

It happens when we’re willing to stay with what’s true, even when it’s undefined.

01/21/2026

On New Year’s Eve, I had a conversation that changed something in me.

I was sitting with a family member who was struggling to put words to what they were feeling. They weren’t looking for advice. They weren’t asking to be fixed. They were just tired. Disoriented. Grieving something they couldn’t quite name.

And in that moment, I felt myself drop into a place that was very quiet and very true.

I spoke from there.

I named what they were carrying. I named the loneliness that didn’t make sense. The grief without a clear cause. The fear that wasn’t attached to anything specific. The exhaustion from trying to "survive" without knowing what the work even was anymore.

They went silent. Then they said, “That’s exactly it. I didn’t know how to say any of that.”

They felt seen. Held. Heard. Not because I gave answers, but because I gave language.

What came through that night needs to be named and
shared.

2025 was not a year of growth. It was a year of stripping.

It dismantled roles that were held together by obligation.
Identities built on proving, performing, surviving.
Stories that kept us functional but not aligned.
External structures many of us used to feel safe.

What it did not do was replace them.

It didn’t install a new identity.
It didn’t teach us how to live from the inside out.
It didn’t automatically create trust or safety.

So many people walked out of 2025 with less scaffolding, fewer illusions, and more truth in their bodies than their minds could explain.

That’s why it felt so hard.

What many are feeling right now is not failure.

It’s the in- between.

The old self is gone.
The new self hasn’t come fully online yet.
So the system suspends.

That suspension can feel like loneliness.
Like grief without a story.
Like fear without an object.
Like hopelessness mixed with a quiet knowing that something is over.

Especially for those who didn’t spend 2025 turning inward or building an internal relationship with themselves, this space can feel unbearable.

This isn’t pathology.

It’s what happens when identity deconstructs faster than the nervous system can reorganize.

This is why nervous system work will be everywhere in 2026.

Not because people need to be fixed.
Not because everyone is dysregulated.

But because identity cannot reform without the body feeling safe enough to live without the old armor.

More regulation and tools is not the answer. Right now, people need permission to stop performing healing.

To stop outsourcing their truth.
To stop forcing hope.
To stop trying to “do it right.”

It’s about meeting yourself where you actually are, without judgment or shame, and letting a foundation rebuild from truth instead of effort.

If you feel like you’re standing on unfamiliar ground right now, you’re not behind.

You’re rebuilding a foundation that is real.

Healing doesn’t start with becoming.
It starts with meeting yourself where you actually are.

From there, capacity grows naturally.
To receive love.
To receive connection.
To receive ease, joy, abundance, and flow.

Not from false hope.
Not from proving.
Not from performance.

But from truth.

I’m sharing this because language creates orientation.
And orientation creates safety.

If this names something you haven’t had words for yet, let it land gently. You don’t need to rush forward.

This space is not a mistake.
It’s where the new foundation is forming.

And that is exactly what this year is asking of us. 💕

Much Love,
Karen

01/16/2026

A quiet thought

I’ve been thinking about how easily the word special gets assigned now.

Not just to moments, but to experiences, objects, and arrangements we’re told to value.

Special has become something you can reserve, purchase, or step into on cue. Something already framed for you, already named, already approved.

You don’t have to listen inward.
You don’t have to notice what your body is responding to.
You just have to participate.

For tired systems, that can feel comforting.

Being told what is special removes the risk of disappointment and the effort of discernment. It offers certainty in a world that feels noisy and fast.

As my own nervous system has softened, my relationship with special has changed.

I’m less interested in things that need to be labeled, packaged, or justified. More drawn to what I recognize quietly, without instruction.

What truly nourishes rarely announces itself.

It’s felt in the way you breathe more fully, settle more deeply, or stay longer than you planned.

This isn’t about judgment or being above anything.
It’s about remembering that meaning isn’t assigned.
It’s embodied.

12/31/2025

Today is the last day of 2025.

For many, this year carried deep loss, long uncertainty, and the unraveling of things that once felt stable or safe.

It asked more of us than we expected and for many, it took more than we knew how to give.

As the new year approaches, it can bring quiet pressure to set goals and look ahead, even when parts of us are still tired from what we’ve had to release.

After a year that asked for so much letting go, my body doesn’t want to reach or strive just yet. It wants something simpler. Kinder. Something it can settle into.

Instead of goals, I’m choosing states I can return to.

A calm breath.
A sense of ease.
Moments of quiet joy.
Feeling steady again, even briefly.

Goals can feel heavy after a hard season.

States feel like permission... like coming home to yourself, again and again, without needing to get anywhere.

If you’re feeling tired, or tender, or unsure what comes next… maybe you don’t need a plan right now. Maybe it’s enough to notice the state your body is asking for today, and allow that to be enough.

You’re not behind.
You’re resting in the in-between.

Even the land rests before it begins again.💕

11/29/2025

Last week, The Lima News stopped by the farm to talk with Joe about what we, and many beekeepers across the country, are experiencing with unusually high hive losses this year.

We’re grateful they took the time to listen, learn, and help raise awareness about what’s happening inside the bee yards right now. This isn’t a typical winter die-off situation. Many hives are struggling or leaving long before cold weather even hits, and beekeepers everywhere are trying to make sense of it.

It’s a difficult reality for beekeepers, and it’s becoming a growing challenge across the industry.

As we head into winter, here are a few simple ways to support pollinators (not just honeybees):

• Leave some of your leaves where they fall. Many native pollinators, like butterflies, moths, and solitary bees, overwinter in leaf litter.

• Avoid cutting back all of your perennials. The hollow stems of flowers and grasses provide winter shelter for beneficial insects.

• Skip heavy lawn chemicals or late-season spraying. Even in fall and early winter, these can disrupt the insects that overwinter in your yard.

• Keep a small part of your yard “untidy on purpose.” A natural area gives native bees and other pollinators a safe place to ride out the cold months.

• Support your local beekeepers by buying honey, attending workshops, or simply sharing their posts. Most of the money from honey sales goes right back into buying bees and equipment for the next season.

These small choices make a surprising difference, not just for honeybees, but for the entire ecosystem of pollinators that keep things blooming in spring.

Thank you for caring about the bees and for following along with us.

LIMA — A routine inspection of the honeybee hives at JK Orchard and Farm turned to disappointment: A queen bee wandering alone in the upper chamber of the hive, abandonded by her colony to die.