Notes from the Broad River
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This is where we tell the story as it happens — the cria arriving on rainy days, the shearing shed humming with life, pulling our first honey load from our new farm, the first fence posts going in, the equipment arriving, dyeing pots simmering, and the little victories that make up a farming year.
It’s not polished.
It’s not perfect.
But it’s real — and it’s the heart of Riverdance Farm.
Taking Stock of What Stays
Taking Stock of What Stays
This season hasn’t asked for numbers, but for stillness. The kind that quietly redraws the edges of your world and shows you, without fuss, what remains.
We farewelled a little cria and welcomed the reminder that life here is never guaranteed. When new life comes, it asks to be celebrated fully. When it doesn’t stay, it asks something else of you entirely.
Lately, I’ve stopped long enough to look not at what’s been lost, but at what is still here. The farm continues its rhythm regardless, and in that, there’s both a humbling and a clarity. Energy matters. Where it’s placed matters more.
Not everything can be sustained, even when you want it to be. Not every season produces. And sometimes the hardest, most necessary work is knowing when to let go.
So the question becomes simple, and not simple at all
What is still here?
The work that belongs to Autumn
Experience the autumn rhythm at Riverdance Farm Tasmania. From seasonal chores like slashing, tree prep, and burn piles to observing the changing light across paddocks, this Week 7 journal explores how the seasons shape farm work, planning, and the emotional flow of life on the farm. Learn how attunement to nature informs thoughtful farm management and winter preparation.
Planning the Move – While Working Off-Farm
Planning Riverdance Farm Tasmania while working full-time off-farm looks nothing like the postcard version. It’s late-night notes, long-term vision, animals two hours away, and trusting the scaffolding phase.
Slow building still counts
Why fibre matters
This week’s journal reflects on fibre as more than material. It’s about responsibility, provenance, slow craft, and the quiet power of women’s work across history. From shearing sheds to maker’s hands, this is the long story behind the yarn.
The Art of Not Knowing
the vision is to eventually build a working fibre mill big enough to employ a person or two. Processing alpaca, sheep, goat — maybe even the occasional highland cow (yes I’ve been asked and I can’t wait to try that!). Workshops, creators’ retreats, people sitting around with fibre in their hands, talking, learning, laughing. A little coffee machine in the corner.
On the move
18–24 months from now, I hope to open a fibre processing mill in the Derwent Valley. I want to meet and connect with people who will buy fibre from my animals in the next six months, and growers who want to use the mill. I want to draw people out from their second jobs, their balancing acts, and have virtual cuppas together. Find our tribe.