🌿 The Art of Staying With It

Happy Beltane.

The wheel is turning again.
Today marks the return of spring, the great pivot toward peak light.

The fences are done.
The sheep are in milk.
Soon, all the creatures will return to pasture—heads low, grazing the green forage that’s finally come.

The sun lingers now, warming our backs as we move faster than we have in months.
Chores are abundant. Growth is everywhere. The year is gathering momentum.

We’ll be butchering our first round of meat birds soon.

***$6/lb, 4–6 lbs average.
To reserve, email me: [email protected]****

Rainy Morning, Tired Hands

This morning was particularly hard.
The rain came early—cold and constant.
Our “milking parlor” has no roof. Neither does the lamb pen.

So the rhythm broke early.
Lambs couldn’t be left alone. Milk let down was slow.
Spirits, slower still.

Everyone felt off.
The kids were whiny. The sheep were fussy.
The milk harvest was light.

But the day moves forward, whether we do or not.
So we kept on.
Making jokes between tantrums.
Stealing ten minutes for a power nap.
Splitting a Mexican Coca-Cola with cracked hands and tired eyes.

The Work of Self-Regeneration

This is what self-regeneration looks like for us.
Not a spa day.
A small moment.
A pause in the rain.

Farmers don’t get to check out this time of year.
From Beltane to Fall, it’s high tide. And we know this. We prepare for it.

But knowing doesn’t soften it.
The cold still bites.
The ewe still kicks.
The children still push past our edges.

And yet—we stay.

The Commitment to Stay

We stay with the lamb who cries at 5 a.m.
We stay with the ewe who resists the milking.
We stay with the child asking for juice when our hands are wet and tired.
We stay in the body, even when it aches.

I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind—
to quit milking, to make it simpler, to opt out.
But I am a stubborn woman.
When I commit, I commit.

So when that alarm went off and the only sound was heavy rain, I threw a silent tantrum beneath the covers.
And then—I got up.
Fed the lamb.
Milked the ewes.
Moved forward.

Between Emotion and Observation

My body got in line.
But the emotions—they lagged behind.
There was a moment of pity. Poor me, this life.
The noise. The cold. The wet hallway lamb.
The endless asking from little voices.

I stayed quiet, mostly.
Did the work.
Stayed in the body instead of the story.

Until the body, too, began to complain.

A kink in my neck.
A fatigue in the bones and muscle that nothing can touch.

And then—presence.
I observed.
I noticed.

It grows stronger while the others shed.
I stretch.
I breathe.
I remember.

Not from my emotions but from somewhere deeper.

Beltane Brings Me Back

It’s Beltane.

And suddenly, the morning is reborn in memory.
The rain? A blessing.
Mushroom season needs it. The pasture needs it. The garden needs it. How lucky we have rain! I could dance in it…

Later, I’ll wander the woods and look for what’s risen through the wet.
One of my East Friesian ewes is close to lambing—how had I forgotten?
The lambs we already have are thriving, their coats filling in, soft curls catching the light.

Between Worlds, Returning to Self

And I return to myself.
Not through escape.
But through conscious change, with effort.
Through shifting posture, mood, attention.
Through remembering I am part of the turning wheel.

Somewhere between joy and exhaustion,
between the tantrum and the tender,
I find myself again.

Always at the edge of something new.
Always spinning toward light.
Always staying—with it all.

Happy Beltane.