08/13/2026
What can we do
but keep on breathing in and out,
modest and willing, and in our places?
-Mary Oliver, "Stars"
It is quiet on the farm.
There are still three goats here at Full of Hope Farm from the original herd of nine. These last three Goaties will move out in ten more days when their new family has had a chance to set up the fencing for them. The ducks and chickens were re-homed on July 31, and a few days later, six of the goats and our house bunny, "Dr. Bruce," moved to the same farm as the chickens and ducks. They moved to a beautiful farm with a big, loving family to adore them all. I haven't had a chance to sit and write anything about the experience because we have been so busy and honestly, I wasn't sure I was ready yet. We had a full week of company starting Aug 3rd, dinner plans with friends and neighbors, an art making workshop with my mom and a friend held at my house, an out of town birthday party to attend, re-homed our two guinea pigs, celebrated our anniversary and my husband's birthday all since the animals left! The rush of activity has kept me active and engaged with people I love and I credit this web of support and activity from keeping me from falling apart with all the changes. Right now I'm kind of in that moment when you realize you don't need your training wheels anymore- you are a little wobbly, but you are balancing on your own.
I haven't cried nearly as much as I anticipated in the days after the animals have all been re-homed. I feared that the quietness on the farm would feel like the hole in your heart the day after your dog has died. The sadness that I anticipated after their departure felt enormous. The week before they left, between sobs and tears, I frantically put in an application to a humane society to foster a litter of kittens or puppies ASAP. I thought that having something to take care of temporarily would ease my transition to being farmless. The humane society never responded to me, so that emergency distraction plan didn't end up happening. What I didn't know before the animals left, and could not have anticipated in my wildest dreams was that when they left... I would be fine.
I am honestly stunned by how okay I am.
I am fine.
I love and miss them all, of course. I miss the chickens and the ducks. I miss the shenanigans in the goat yard at dinner time. I miss opening the door in the morning to see Calvin sitting in the middle of the stall like a dog with one leg kicked out to the side. I miss Dr. Bruce the Bunny when I walk past a big bunch of fresh dandelions growing in the yard and come in the house and see the empty space where he used to live and I miss him when he doesn't hop over and meet me at the door. I miss the squeaking of the two Guinea Pigs who were ever hopeful that someone was just about to bring them some lettuce. In ten days when the last three goats leave I expect that there might be a new level of feelings exposed that I will need to address, but what I have learned from the first phase of rehoming the farm is that it was one of the hardest things I have ever done and that I survived.
With so few goats here to tend and no chickens and ducks, the evening chores take 5-10 minutes instead of 30 minutes to an hour or more. In addition to the simplicity of daily chores, I have noticed that there is a calmness in my mind that has been accustomed to keeping a running inventory of all the farm tasks to do and supply levels at all times. All of the various tasks that needed to be regularly maintained took up a lot of space in my brain: different animals feed supplies, quantity of shavings or bedding on hand, fleeces to be washed/dried, litter boxes to empty, stalls to clean, pools to dump out, scrub and refill, fences to fix, health checks to complete, hooves to be trimmed, medicines to be administered, hay to order...etc. My brain is enjoying the break from all of that responsibility. I am deeply grateful for having had the opportunity to have done it all, and am now realizing the tremendous gift I have received in return.
This week I faced my fear and sat and listened to that scary quiet of an almost empty farm and noticed with new appreciation that there is so much life still here. There are so many songbirds in the meadow and in the trees. There are crows and owls and loons and ravens. There are baby Mourning Doves in the tree by the house. There is even a toad that hangs out on my side porch in the evenings.
It is not quiet at all.
It is different.
I can see that for me, this next chapter is going to start with quiet and stillness while I wait for my new wings to unfold and take me somewhere great.
I am sure I will be ready.
