I just had the most normal five hours that I’ve had in about three months. I woke up after 8:00 a.m., had breakfast, randomly decided we needed to have a kick ass roast for dinner tonight, proceeded to search for said roast in the deep freezer, only to get unnecessarily frustrated that Chris didn’t organize the deep freezer in the most logical way after receiving our beef order this week (come on, this isn’t rocket science, the soup bones go under the ground beef. #duh). I cleaned out the refrigerator and gagged as I threw out moldy food and did dishes. Totally boringly normal. And it was awesome.
Since moving to our farm in March, our lives have been consumed with starting our business. All our available time has been spent planning, evaluating, discussing, planting, weeding, harvesting, ugly crying, arranging, paying bills, drinking while doing more planning, and even more ugly crying with a few “hooray” moments thrown in. Our poor family members and friends probably hate visiting with us because we’re constantly picking their brains and only talking about the farm.
So it felt odd to wake up and make my home and family a priority. We keep being asked, “how are you doing it all?” Let me tell you, we’re not. I hate to admit it, but I constantly feel like I’m letting someone or something down. I know I’m not doing it all the time, but the reality is, it happens more often than not. The house is an absolute disaster about 98% of the time, we’ve had more burgers and milkshakes in the past six months than we’ve had probably in our entire lifetime. Lincoln has had ketchup with every meal for the past eight days, and some nights we’re so damned tired, the kid goes to bed with his dry toothbrush still sitting on the bathroom counter (horrible parents, I know). We couldn’t do what we’re doing without the love and support of our family. They feed us, watch Linc, let us borrow equipment, give us better tools, listen to our incessant ramblings, and give high fives for the “holy-crap-we’re-doing-it” moments.
Somehow though, we keep enough plates spinning to keep moving forward. We have lulls where things are slow and we unnecessarily doubt every decision we’d made so far and go into full on panic mode and scramble to write out a better plan for next year, to immediately being swamped with orders and feeling secure in every decision we’ve ever made and having a beer to celebrate our obviously well-thought out plan.
Amidst the chaos of our lives, I have to keep this in mind: it’s worth it. How many kids are growing up on a flower and produce farm where their kitchen is covered in flower buckets, the rooster in the backyard is awkwardly finding his vocal chords, and the creek is the best place on earth to throw pebbles and watch the blue heron swoop in to take a rest? Yeah, he might end up being a weirdo, but aren’t we all weirdos?
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