I have to, I want to; I should, I could.

 We’ve just passed the two year mark of living on the farm in Jasper. While social media has a lot of downsides and is a horrible time suck that I think about deleting at least as often as I check it, I truly appreciate the memories feature. Looking back at that post and taking a few moments to compile our progress photos really helped put into perspective all we’ve accomplished in two years. Lately I’ve been struggling with all the projects that remain either unfinished or an abstract sentence on my to do list. I don’t have the energy, time, or physical ability for most of them by myself, and by myself is where I find myself most days. 

Now, I’m not complaining about the “by myself” part, because in truth, I’m a loner that has adapted to enjoying people’s company. And I have a plus one, 24/7 these days. My eight month old daughter Millie has just mastered crawling, so she’s either strapped to me or within sight and grabbing distance at all times. That girl has so much curious energy; everything goes in her mouth, and I do mean everything.

 A few weeks ago I heard a crunching sound behind me and turned to see a spotted wing hanging from her grinning lips. As I dove to dislodge what I realized was a dragonfly her grin widened and she dramatically gulped, my finger only managing to grasp the one wing. I shuddered, and then I laughed. A few days ago we were at a friend’s house and watched Millie go after a pill bug (a rolly-polly if you will), snatch it up as it made it’s defensive armadillo pose and pop that poor sucker in her mouth. I dare say we were cheering her on in that endeavor. 

What? Is eating one of God’s creations any more gross than sucking on a plastic toy made in China? I’d argue it’s not. 

In any event, my daughter is a feisty explorer that I’m determined to keep wild and curious while minimizing her insect, rock, and cat food consumption. And yes, this piece is being written as she sleeps on my chest. I almost put her down to begin hacking away at the always growing “I have to…” list, but she was tucked so comfortably into my shoulder that I just couldn’t bear to move her. I want to enjoy these times. And I need to remember to be grateful that I can. 

So back to the so-called lack of accomplishments. I don’t like talking to most people about it because I’ll get a well-meaning yet cliché and over-used “cherish these times, they go fast” lecture or something similar. Yes, I know this Karen, but I’d still like to be able to weed my garden or work on my rock wall today. Add to that I live off-grid with animals so every day has “have-to’s” just to have power and running water. 

My over-ambitious cutting garden is so packed because I smartly did not widen the garden footprint but stupidly packed in the amount of plants to cover the unrealistic expansion. There’s no cutting garden stand or even a way to really sell them this year. I desperately want people to enjoy them, but I’m learning my lesson not to spend all my energy throwing my best at people who can’t make time for me. And yet, I have bouquets to make. I often wonder who reads these posts, other than my few vocal friends that comment. So, I’ll make you a deal, Reader. 

Oh, let me pause a moment and inform you that if you’ve noticed my voice change it’s because two-weeks-later Me has hijacked this unfinished post during another Millie lap nap. The deal is, if you’re local, come visit me (with a heads up you’re heading over) and I’ll make you a bouquet. They will be heavy on edibles and fragrant herbs you can cook and make teas with, and I’ll write you a little notecard to explain the bouquet’s contents. 

If you’re a far away friend, the same invitation is of course open to you, but I realize distance is a challenge. So- if you can’t travel, I’ll make you a virtual bouquet, and leave it on some random local person’s doorstep.

I don’t lack for things to do, as previously discussed, but making bouquets is a want. I would like to add that I have a partner that pretty much has super low expectations of me and always encourages me to just enjoy life while he himself works non-stop to keep money flowing in to support the farm operations AND do all the day-to-day farming operations himself. I know part of my anxious thinking that I don’t do enough is because I really can’t lighten his load at this point.

So in summary, I’m making one list, based on the title of this post, and I think it’s one I can look forward to accomplishing today, with a little help from a friend. 

Today: I have to… finish the load of bedding that stopped mid-wash because the generator died and we’re out of gas. (Off-grid world problems.) 

I want to… make a bouquet for the first person who reads this post and messages me.

I should… harvest a lot of my herbs to dry them, but I could (and will!) just enjoy every bloom as it grows and stop stressing about unfinished things. 

Crawling Forward

I’ve been itching to write for days. Truth is, I’ve started half a dozen posts or stories over the last month while my daughter sleeps on my lap, just to capture thoughts for future writing sessions that won’t have to be so short and inconsistent. While it’s not as productive as I’d like to be, it’s something. May vanished in a blur of planting season beginning on the farm. As I sit here in the lower hay field in my half-built shop, I can hear the rattle of the corn planter as Kellen inches towards the hundred acre mark for fields planted. I believe he has another sixty or so to go after that. 

We are a couple with grand plans, I’ll give us that. I’m having to constantly edit my “grand” aspects out to reflect reality. The cut flower plot has shrunk dramatically in size and species I’m aiming to grow this year. I’m reassuring myself that I’d rather have a well-tended plot of a few things than a weed-stressed and water deprived half acre I’d have to watch die by midsummer as I chase a soon-to-be crawling Millie around the farm. 

The heat and dry conditions have already begun; last year one of our springs dried up and made life a bit more challenging than usual for a few weeks until Kellen could reconfigure all of our hook ups to a lower spring on the property. One of my unfinished writing pieces is explaining our off-grid conditions. In a nutshell we’re a happy medium between the two extremes people seem to place off-gridders: we do shower and watch TV, we don’t lounge all day in hammocks and make amazing fresh-foraged meals from our woods. Life is full of little extra steps (Bonnie did you charge the inverter?) and a keen awareness of where our power, water, and heat come from. And appreciating just how precious these things are when we run low, or out completely. 

Other precious things we run low on are time and energy. As I sit here, two trays of unplanted flowers and herbs make a lovely display as they wait to be planted on the edge of the garden. Soon. My tray of seeds, pared down from the original pile, is splayed out in Millie’s pack-n-play, with three of the dozen or so things planted this morning. A few weeks ago I had boldly announced an opening day for my little shop as the first day of summer, but as I sit here in what is to be that shop, now turned into a shaded hangout for Millie and me, I’m reconsidering timing.

I’ve spent two days with Millie in this shell of a little building, and I don’t like the idea of adding walls, at least not yet. Decent bouquets will most likely not be ready until July at my current planting rate. I lost half of my seedlings in the freeze we had a few weeks ago. I’d already moved them and my little greenhouse to the garden area- a good six hundred feet from the house, and there was just not the time to grab them or space for them inside. When you live in a small space, if one item leaves, two seem to spring up in its place. In my case, the greenhouse and seedlings HAD to go because my first and second litter of kittens were beginning their exploratory phase. A lighted greenhouse is an irresistible fascination to a kitten, if you’re ever wondering. 

So back to the reality of planting. Currently I have several patches of voluntary dill growing quite well. I also have about two dozen voluntary sunflowers that I managed to transplant in a less haphazard manner than they sprung up. Johnny-Jump-Ups that I grew from seed are planted in little swirls between spots intended for herbs. My feverfew seedlings survived the freeze and are in two little clusters around a thyme plant that overwintered in the garden. The garden space we made last year is about a quarter planted, and I’m still deciding exactly what else will go where. 

I was telling Kellen this morning that in another time in my life that little garden space would be planted in one day, but in that time in my life I wouldn’t have a Millie on my lap. I also wouldn’t have this garden space of my own in that past time either. These things are all new to me. New space to plant is beyond exciting to a plant nerd like me. Add to that a partner who is willing to help me break ground on whatever size garden I want on this 150 acre farm. It’s overwhelmingly thrilling. I want to plant ALL the things. Everywhere. All at once. And yet, here I sit, with less than five different species planted in a space no bigger than last year’s garden. 

I can’t say I’ve been entirely grateful or even mindful for the slow pace I have to adopt for this year, and the foreseeable future. It’s frustrating and in a way humiliating- I’m a horticulturist for goodness sake and the most I’ve gotten in has been seeds that planted themselves from last year’s plants! Half my seedlings died after three months of care. And yet, I know I need to be grateful for the delay. I need to be right here for Millie’s first crawl, to run Kellen to get another part for the umpteenth piece of equipment that’s broke down, and to just keep our little sprouting farm from going backwards, if not progressing quite yet.  

No, Millie hasn’t been asleep this whole time; this is a three session post, but this is where I’ll close, as the sun is getting low in the sky. Going slow has never been my speed. It’s a major adjustment for me. Most of my life I can say has been a fast-paced marathon of accomplishment. Doing so much that enjoying most of it came by looking back at pictures after the fact. But this is a new life, and a much different way of living than I had. One in which if I choose to, I can enjoy the moments like this where a hummingbird zips up to my unplanted flowers and a cool breeze tousles my sleeping daughter's hair. It’s a journey after all, and maybe Millie isn’t the only one learning to crawl in this big new world. 

To-do or to live?

There are so many inspirational quotes we all like to sling around to remind us to slow down and live in the moment. I read them and breathe a sigh of wistful understanding as I share or “heart” them on social media. But actually applying them to the moments they’re addressing? A tricky thing indeed, sometimes. 

It is officially spring in my world, and this year in addition to the warming temperatures and opening flowers, I’m surrounded by kittens and bunnies to really drive the season’s message home. Before life on the farm, this would be serious go-time in my world. Landscaping in April is a mad rush of gearing up for the season and fielding multiple tasks along with juggling clients impatient to get things done. 

Warm days often bring back this anxious feeling that I need to “get to it” and I find myself making lists and looking about frantically at how far behind I am. Kellen often has to deal with my exasperation at how little is done and my spouting off a to-do list that MUST be done now. Thank God for that man’s patience and sense of humor. He listens, often laughs, and tells me to go play with Millie or pet a kitten and relax. “Enjoy life. We will get to it.” Even if he knows we won’t be doing whatever “it” I’m freaking out about any time soon.

The first year Kellen and I were together I left two jobs and slowly stopped my gardening service business; there was just too much life to live down here and working off the farm actually makes starting a farm harder, in our opinion. Sure, we might potentially gross immediate capital to do more faster, but there are only so many hours and four hands to work with. We believe investing our whole selves is the most important part of getting this farm going. Farming isn’t a job, it’s a lifestyle, and it takes all you’ve got: mind, body, and soul. 

I’ve traded a life of two or more jobs at any given time for one whole lifestyle of continuing growth. There’s just as much to do, with an infinite potential to do more everyday on the farm. Built in is the option to rest and not do anything- and sometimes it’s not an option, the weather, funds, or other factors slow down the process. It has been difficult for me to adjust and accept this gift of available time. Last year we spent carving out a space to live and function, but this year we’re really digging into the farming. Kellen’s got the corn seed en route to plant our 70 acres of tillable ground plus renting additional acreage from a neighboring farm. I’ve got cut flower and herb seeds sprouting in the greenhouse- we’re starting slow with the cut flowers as I need to establish a market and see how the growing goes. It’s hard not to get itchy feet to get out and weed my beds or plant more seed; the capacity to grow is there. But we still have much infrastructure yet to build which makes tending our current animals and crop load a challenge. We’re off-grid (more on this in another post) and building structures, amending fields, and fixing equipment falls squarely in Kellen’s shoulders, with a little assistance from me when it’s feasible with a five month old in tow. 

My main job in this new lifestyle is to live my life. Growing Millie up and making time to cherish her and not just pack her up to “get things done” is the mindset I strive for everyday. I can’t say I succeed at it everyday, but I try to get my head in that space when the habit of a “to-do” list looms. It’s a “to-live” mindset that matters. Kellen works tirelessly to make our life possible, all the while reminding me to enjoy life and these moments, and doing his best to take time enjoying a slow morning with Millie and me as often as he can. Today, for example, as I sit here with a sleeping baby on my lap and a mama Lucy nursing her kittens on the floor next to me, is the perfect day to live the life I’ve been given and do as I am able, all in good time.

Farm Beginnings

Today’s a sunny day; one of the final days of March, with a freshly fallen snow dusting that will soon disappear as early spring snows often do. I’m not accomplishing much this morning as Millie has decided I make an excellent nap bed. I'm trying to remind myself these times pass quickly and dishes are here eternal, so here’s the space to write. I’ve caught you up on our animal acquisitions this far (oh yes, I’m sure there will be more, and soon) so let’s talk land. When I say this land was raw- it had never been lived on in many years. It had been pasture and fields for many years when Kellen’s grandparents owned it, but the homestead is on a different parcel. The only structure we discovered was a concrete trough  overgrown with brush near the watering hole. While Kellen had worked the fields on and off, the pasture hadn’t had animals for several years. 

Our first walk on the property together was in more than a foot of snow; the second time was early spring, wading through swaths of tall grasses, brush, and other nature debris. There was quite a bit of water flowing off the hill, some spring melt, but most from springs Kellen knew existed around the property. 

In one particularly soaked location near a towering old oak I could identify wetland plants in a grouping, and after some tracking through different pools of water we determined it to be the site of one of the larger springs on the property.  Sure enough, after a little digging, we found the spot where water was seeping up from the ground. 

Our first project before moving to the property was to dig a reservoir to use this spring as a water source. Kellen and I took turns digging a small trench to consolidate the flow into a small pond and direct overflow towards the farm ditch in the lower field. There were also several locations along the path that would eventually be our driveway where water flowed off the hillside. The nature of the flows led us to believe they also came from springs, which could prove useful in the future. At present, however, these water flows were an issue. With no ditches along the path to catch the water, the path became impassable once mud season arrived. 2021 was a particularly wet growing season, and I dare say mud season lasted the whole year. We were still deciding on a farm name and the wetness might have fueled a few I came up with: MF Farm (Mud Flats Farm), Always Flowing Farm, Slip N Slide Farm, Moister than Yours Farm, Up to Your Knees Farm, WWF (We’re Wet Farms), EverSpring Farm, Hope Springs Farm... you get the idea.

In early August, we managed to drag the camper out away from the road and between the oaks, giving us privacy and access to the spring reservior. Kellen began assessing how to turn the path into a proper driveway. Just two days later our area suffered a devastating amount of rain, flooding our and nearby villages. Miraculously, we suffered little damage, although our recently installed culvert by the road was nearly washed out.

Kellen's cousin Chad helped us begin the daunting drainage project of installing tile and also helped dig a more proper reservior for our spring water. The driveway is over 600 feet from the road to the camper, but this work got us able to move Kellen's semi trucks and other equipment in from the edge of the road. I believe altogether we now have five drainage tiles under the driveway. The next step was to purchase a backhoe that Kellen and his machinist friend breathed just enough life into to dig several deep trenches spanning the width of the path to place drainage tile. And then she broke down, leaving the driveway impassable by vehicle. We had to use the edge of the lower farm field to get out to the camper for almost a year- Kellen fixes all his own equipment, and the ones he can't, he brings to his Amish machinist friend David, and they tackle the issue together. However the backhoe repair turned out to be a doozy, financially and mechanically, so we needed to make do for that year. In between all of this, Kellen was working on a few neighboring farms, trucking, and fixing equipment to get us in a place to farm our own land. We managed to harvest hay from our fields, the first cut baled on my birthday- now there's a farm memory I'll treasure forever.

The Graceful Willow and the Perfect Tomato

I just got home from a sleepover at my best friend’s house. Yes, we’re in our 40’s and sleepovers are still a thing. Actually, she opens her home to me when I visit because we now live over two hours apart. Fifteen years of a friendship that has only grown stronger and more meaningful with each passing year. We’re really not alike, in fact I remember someone insightful once calling us complimentary opposites. The Graceful Willow and the Perfect Tomato. Yes- I’m the tomato of the pair. 

I wasn’t intending to write about our friendship when I began writing today, but I think such a friendship warrants taking over this post. I’ll have to change the name from the original subject that was weighing on me, “Irreconcilable Differences” to whatever is up there now. That is truly the furthest description of our connection- in fact, I can’t think of one time in fifteen years that we have fought. Even a misunderstanding is very rare. 

She’s not a person who enjoys the spotlight (although I drag her in it from time to time) even though she, in my opinion, is a class act that can command attention even as she shuns it. That’s honestly how we met- in a Horticulture 101 class in 2007; she was a quiet magnet that sat against the wall half way back in the classroom. Everyone noticed her, whether she cared to know it or not. As for myself, I heard a little voice in my head say, “I think this girl would make an interesting friend.”

I can’t remember exactly how I began the conversation, I believe I sent her an email to get together about the class, but as they say, the rest is history.

She’s been a steady rock in my cliffhanging lifestyle- a thoughtful voice of counsel during life predicaments. During one particularly colorful period of my life, she and I took on the nicknames Coach and Slugger, respectively. 

I want to go back to how we were described as complimentary opposites. We have a few core similarities: we both love horticulture, we’re both big foodies (most of my friends are- if you don’t like to eat, I don’t get you) but insofar as lifestyles we are very different. She steadily progressed in the professional world, moving with thoughtful consideration, purchased a house in the suburbs of Buffalo, got married and has a strong extended family life. 

Me on the other hand, I’ve never owned a home, only recently have I settled into co-owning farmland over two hours from Buffalo where my partner and I are (eventually) building a house. I’ve jumped career tracks multiple times, as followers of this blog well know. So what ties us so tightly together? It’s easy- mutual respect for each other’s pursuit of life fulfillment, and recognizing it based on how well we know each other, not on what we ourselves would enjoy. This might sound simple, but I think it’s vital to a long term friendship. As I stop and think, it’s important in all relationships to some degree. How often do we hear “I just don’t understand how they enjoy that” with a touch of judgement on someone else’s lifestyle? Or how a parent becomes so bewildered when a child they think they know so well veers in a direction they didn’t foresee. 

In my opinion, being similar to someone is not the best indicator for a relationship. Instead, holding a certain fascination with another person and wanting to know them for their genuine self leads to a much deeper connection. This way, you’re less likely to try to steer their life, or be frustrated when they take a turn that you wouldn’t. Instead, you both live life alongside each other, even if your lives aren’t parallel. 

You don’t grow apart if one or both of you chooses to move far away or leave a job in an industry in which you both shared a love. Growing is the essence of your friendship, and truly wishing their best above all else. 

The rich connection and love is worth making efforts of time and distance, and understanding life ebbs and flows. 

This is truly the essence of my best friend relationship with her- she’s been more than happy to be along for the crazy ride I have chosen to as my life rhythm, and I am so grateful for her steady presence and the shelter of her love. 

Space to Write

It’s a grey January day. I haven’t written a post in almost a year and a half. Last I wrote, I’d been living a month on a raw piece of farmland and woods in a camper with my partner and one kitten. We knew starting from scratch would be both challenging and fun, and our expectations were definitely  accurate.

Eighteen months on the Jasper farm; I hate to put it as a list because I feel that diminishes each addition to our life. But here goes: one kitten turned into five kitties, currently sprawled in different corners of our off grid home. Kellen gave me my first farm animal, Gertie, a Nigerian Dwarf goat, in early March of last year. She was a gift of life, someone to care for and draw my focus away from the dreary winter that had been taking a considerable toll on my mental health on last winter. Little did we know about a week or so prior another little one began her journey of life in my womb.

 Gertie sparked our love for goats and we now have seven goats in the farm family, with two more doelings coming in March. In August, we took a family vacation to Tennessee and returned with our Great Pyrenees LGD Charlotte, better known as Charlie, from a sheep farm in Virginia. Charlie takes her patrolling and animal protection 85 percent seriously, with fifteen percent reserved for just chasing everyone because she can. Ah, a dog’s life. 

Near Christmas we had a some of the coldest, windiest days I’ve ever experienced from the edges of a storm that devastated the Buffalo area. The week before, Kellen announced he’d found a cow calf pair he’d really like to buy. They joined our farm family the day before the frigid days, and through much love and diligence on Kellen’s behalf (that man sure loves cows!) they not only survived but are thriving in their Jasper home. Just last week, we bought a pair of rabbits from a friend, and a few days ago we made a deal with a customer to trade three piglets for wood delivery. Phew!

So yes- it’s been quite a year and a half- and that’s just the animal additions.

 

On November 17, Kellen and I welcomed our daughter, Millie Jean Warriner, into the world. She is- miraculously- napping next to me as I write. I am so blessed to have this baby girl at 40, and I am truly trying to take each day with her as the gift it is. I am so excited to watch Millie live the good life on the farm, and hope she enjoys the opportunity of a lifetime as much as her daddy and I have had preparing it for her. 

I’ve had writing on the fringes of my thoughts for months. Writing has always been important to me, not only for self-expression, but as a way to track my journey and marvel at the wonderful miracles in my life. Writing keeps me mindful; it is a time I reflect on what I’ve accomplished since last penning a post. This can be particularly helpful on the grey January days when my focus gets narrow and a messy house overwhelming. 

I can’t say I have been too busy to write all these months; it was more that loving took priority. I wouldn’t call our life hard, I’ve had more fun and relaxing times than any other in my life. But it is a life of constant challenge and growth. One I’ve been more interested in living than writing about. While I’m still very much engaged in the living aspect, having a baby slows down my pace, and I know there are moments and memories I want to capture in my writing. It’s as much for my own benefit as for my readers. And so I make the conscious effort to give space for my writing, among the other precious activities I choose in this fabulous life. But now my daughter’s eyelids flutter, and so I shift from one love activity to another. 

 

Finding Our Places

Just a little path in the woods, or so it would seem to anyone looking for immediate gratification. Winding and buggy, the trail mocks my stupid wedge shoe choice and the bugs bite me, delighted at my absent application of a smelly girl lotion. I can almost hear them buzzing, “Yay! A delicious city idiot girl to feast upon!” Funny, that’s what I’ve been called in the new place I find myself. Probably other things as well but that’s just the way of curious humans. 

Ha. If only they knew, I thought with a smile. Sure, the town I now call my home is quite a bit more rural than here, no traffic lights as opposed to one blinking one, one place for coffee rather than two- and dirt roads are a bit more the norm in Jasper than Youngstown. But they are both little dots that rarely show up on anything but a county map, and that’s fine by me- they’re both my kinda place. 

I’m excited to hopefully have a new address for where I’ve been living with my love for the last month- that way I can surprise my grandmother when she asks, “And just where am I sending your birthday card this year?”

She’s hardly phased when it changes or remains the same. She’s used to my pattern-less pattern of life. Hey, no one gets to live this life as I do, who needs a pattern? 

I continue to pick my way down the path, that slowly opens to a sandy cliff over a small beach beside Four Mile Creek’s outlet into Lake Ontario.  Time to lose the shoes- truly if I could walk my whole life barefoot I would, and often do, skating just on this side of inappropriate settings for no shoes. I’d rather serve myself barefoot than not feel the earth beneath my feet and fit in to places where shoes are a prerequisite. 

Fitting in. Places. I chuckle inwardly at the images and memories that float through my head. I can’t say I’ve always felt I fit in well in new places, but that’s never stopped me from finding them. 

There was a time I was new to these shores that I now sink my toes into, an awkward girl of twenty-one, with the wit of a witch but the street smarts of a toddler, never mind lacking the experiences most girls get through middle and high school. I awkward-ed through those years, still somehow attracting kindred spirits, but never quite feeling “my place” in any of it. 

Then one day, while playing the wallflower desperately desiring to be a diva, I realized something. I could be a shy, invisible person for the rest of my days, or just- you know- try something new. The only failure is never trying, right? So I started just talking to someone- anyone- then everyone. Finding I could make a tired mother laugh, or an old man smile, was one of my greatest realizations in this life. Most of the world is looking for a place to call theirs, and if my presence is where they find it, I’m happy to share moments of love.

Since then I’ve led a squiggle line through life- often jumping off of just-peaking careers or opportunities to tackle a new one. Just settling into a place others thought would be “just perfect” and then venturing out into new unknowns. Call me crazy but you don’t always just quit when you fail, sometimes you see a higher peak from the peak you just climbed that you would have never known about had you never stepped foot to the first one. 

I don't regret any peak, place, or face I’ve encountered on my journey, and I’m fortunate to be able to return to most of them such as this little inlet on the lake and feel right at home. 

It’s not so much about leaving one thing for another, but adding to the places I can call my place in this life. Everywhere I go is my place, I just have to open my arms first to grasp it. 

I have since encountered so many people who tell me they feel out of place in life, and how do I manage my way?

I have no magic answer; I’m currentlyin a new place where I’m known as “city girl” and someone’s girlfriend, but I know I’m slowly becoming known as neighbor, friend, family- Bonnie. It’s a daily choice to fade into the wall or walk right into the center of the dance floor and recognize that everyone just wants a turn to dance with someone who can smile into their face and say, “I see this is your place too, glad to be a part.” 

So my place is actually many other people’s places; it was theirs before, others will come after me and join in place.  This beach is someone else’s special barefoot cove, and I’m happy to make my place among others who can find room in their hearts for a wayward soul such as mine.