Country Culture’s assistant editor – a lifelong farm kid – reflects on the new year
I’m sitting here on New Year’s Day at my grandparents’ kitchen table, looking out over the back pasture of 20 acres that crests down the hill behind the house. The farm in total is over a hundred acres – much of it wooded – the center line dotted with the main farmhouse, my grandparents’ home, the dairy barn and shop and various outbuildings.
This is one of the best views on the whole property – through their large sliding glass door, out over their porch and across these acres of grazing pasture to the tree line. A hazy mass of mountainous glory looms in the background, especially beautiful at sunrise and sunset when it catches a kaleidoscope of color.
It’s dark as I write this – a bit of a bummer. These early evenings since the time change, the early arrival of darkness… it sort of puts a little bit of a damper on the holiday festivities. It’s been a relatively unremarkable season thus far here in the Northeast. We skated through without a white Christmas, grays and lackluster blues painting the sky. Bare, leafless trees a stark outline against the horizon. The ground, a muddy mess as we deal with some flooding and the aftermath of a storm system that came through the other day.
The pallid, dusky sky seems to be a metaphor for the year: it’s been a hard year at times, no? We as a country and as a global community have seen our share of difficulties this past year – and many are still struggling. Unemployment. Bills. Health. You name it.
Zooming the camera in a little closer to home, maybe life on the farm has not been kind to you and your family this year. Maybe it’s made you question your long-term purpose and standing in the farming or homesteading community. “Is this really what we’re supposed to be doing?”
That malfunctioning piece of equipment sent your partner to the hospital and put them out of commission for weeks. An animal became ill. Fire or flooding claimed a barn or an outbuilding. You’re struggling to keep this little operation of yours sustainable. A crop failed and it’s going to put your farmers market offerings behind for the entire season.
Maybe it’s grief at the unexpected loss of a loved one – that partner who you schemed with and dreamed with and manifested this life with. Maybe it’s a chronic illness that limits your body and holds you back from getting outdoors or being as hands-on as you want to be.
I don’t need to belabor the list. You know where I’m going. Life is hard – and life on the farm or the homestead is no exception.
But for every bad thing tallied on your list for the year there are just as many good things.
I think of my parents’ second business flourishing on the farm as they seek to diversify their operations this year. I think of glorious, sunny summer days and the sour-sweet medley of fresh garden produce. I think of the satisfaction of getting your hands dirty and finishing that long put-off farm project. Victory as that barn cat finally warms up to your offering of friendship and pets… or the wave of appreciation for new life as you bottle feed that calf for the first time. The kindness of a neighbor – helping with a financial need, offering a meal or helping you finish that daunting project.
Deep, full belly laughs – the kind where you can’t see for the tears in your eyes – and the joy of being surrounded by the people you love.
It’s all worth it in the end, right? This is what we were meant to do. Despite all of the hardships that will come, we are hardy people. The workers of the land. It’s in our bones.
And so we wait. That’s the key: anticipation of what’s to come – not merely existing to get by.
Yes, the sky is missing its spark here in the deep of winter. Things are cold and damp, and quite frankly, there often doesn’t seem to be a lot to be thankful for as the sun hides itself, waiting for brighter days.
But you know what? The sun will shine again. Winter skies mean spring is just around the corner. The trees will find themselves again, shaded by beautiful green growth. The grass will brighten once again, dotted with new plant life in every color of the rainbow.
And you’ll stand there in that field or your garden, feet anchored in this good, good earth, the sun filling you with warmth and the air electric with possibility.
And you’ll know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
Let’s have a great year, everyone. Happy New Year.
