Small steps
I wanted to pen another journal entry quickly because I had been waiting until I could summon the courage to be honest with myself, my new reality, and finally hit publish on last week's entry.
While it hasn't been long since that actual event transpired, and grief is still very much my current travelling companion, I know it is only walking alongside me for a season. I don't intend to build a home there. It's not my style.
The strength I have, albeit in spurts and starts rather than a satisfying, consistent hum, is drawn from my amazing family and that trusted circle of people who remind me that I am never alone.
Thank you for the messages, the check-ins, and the words of support from my beautiful little community. I may be unusual in my responses and my lack of linear thinking, but the patience and tolerance shown towards my grief has been honourable and deeply appreciated.
I'm still witnessing time moving at a different pace. Or perhaps I am.
There is quiet in the sense that life has settled into a strange rhythm again. The kind of rhythm that comes after a season of upheaval, where you stop trying to predict the future and instead focus on what is directly in front of you today.
That is quite a change for me.
Normally, I'm mapping out the next year, plotting five-year dreams and chasing ideas before they've fully formed. Right now, I can't do that. A single day can feel overwhelming. Yet there is a huge sense of pride in reaching sunset and knowing I've made it through another one.
There has been a lot of reflection.
Long talks. Early mornings. Farm jobs that require just enough concentration to keep your hands busy while your mind wanders. And wanders.
I've also discovered that my passion for eliminating wasps is still very much alive. There is something oddly reassuring about finding pieces of yourself that remain unchanged. Perhaps it's proof that I will recover fully. Perhaps there is an even better version of me still forming.
I wanted to share a little adventure I had a few months ago.
One of the highlights was attending GoatFest in Longford earlier in the year, with a new friend. We set off to explore fibre goats and spent the day surrounded by passionate breeders and producers. It reminded me how generous rural communities can be when it comes to sharing knowledge, experience and enthusiasm for their animals.
And then there was the local bakery lunch.
If you know, you know.
The result of that trip is that Riverdance Farm has welcomed five new Angora goats.
They are currently settling in, learning the routine and introducing themselves to the rest of the farm. Watching them explore their new home has brought a fresh sense of excitement and possibility. Their beautiful mohair represents another small step in a journey I've been dreaming about for a long time.
The fibre mill continues to move steadily forward too.
There is no grand announcement just yet. No fireworks. No ribbon cutting. No dramatic moment where everything suddenly falls into place.
And thank goodness for that.
One foundational piece at a time.
Instead, there are conversations, paperwork, planning, logistics and countless decisions being made behind the scenes. Renovations have started, although at the moment it feels more like the demolition phase of the shed that will eventually become our home.
It's the kind of work nobody really sees, but it is often the work that determines whether a dream has strong enough roots to grow.
I plan to document more of the journey with photos. I'm still getting used to that element of sharing, but I know it will be nice to look back and see how far we've come.
For now, though, this feels like enough.
Small steps.
This Week I've Thought About...
Foundations matter more than fireworks.
Routine is often the bridge between surviving and thriving.
Sometimes moving forward looks surprisingly ordinary.