Taking Stock of What Stays
This season the farm has asked me to take stock, and not the kind where you count bales or measure what’s come in against what’s gone out, but the quieter kind, where life redefines the edges of what your world looks like and who is left standing in it with you.
Progress is still happening for us - towards the mill arriving… an ever-shining light in the near distance, something steady to look toward. This is almost like a new child arriving to expand my brood.
Nearly, but there is nothing quite like a new baby in the family, is there?
We finished the breeding season with the loss of a cria. Mumma is doing fine, thank goodness, and we buried her little lost girl back into the earth that her family grazes upon, and that alone holds its own kind of grief. Her loss was another reminder of how much a good vet matters, not just in skill but in judgement, calmness, and guidance when things don’t go as planned.
Losing the cria, that wouldn’t sustain life, is a stark reminder that livestock is precarious. And that reminder – Our life is precarious. It isn’t something to take for granted. And when a new life does arrive, it asks to be celebrated, fully and without hesitation. These moments have a way of sharpening your focus, of reminding you of what really matters and where your energy is best placed. We really are all but visitors here.
Alongside that loss, we also had some vet intervention for our Heidi girl, our long-legged little cria, she needed hernia surgery. She is recovering nicely with her Mumma, just taking a few days of medication to heal in a stall, and some laneway walks. Gentle recovery, for our feisty little lady, she’s keen to rejoin the herd and reclaim her top cria position.
Lately, I’ve just really stopped (which is incredibly rare for me), and in looking around – I've asked myself – what is still here, not what has been lost. Standing still, I see the life around me still pulsing, still moving, and it’s like my perspective sharpened. My role here or place in this life almost becomes insignificant, because it will all continue without me. What has been and what will my contribution be? This has been one of those moments for me.
Not shaped so much by the weather, but by trying to hold the shape of a place while not always being in it, and learning, in a way only a farm can teach, that not all effort is equal.
There is a difference between doing what needs to be done for the farm and then the other, doing things that make you feel good.
One keeps everything moving, steady and often unseen – required. It doesn’t always make immediate sense because it’s planning 4 steps ahead. The other – can feel good immediately, it can quietly let things slip because time can’t be duplicated, even when it’s done with the best of intentions, because it feels good. It isn’t always about care or willingness.
Sometimes people give everything they have, not taking guidance, and struggle to apply energy in the places that matter most. And on a farm, the important things don’t wait. They build, they stack, and eventually they ask to be dealt with - whether you’re ready or not.
And that reality, it asks something of you. It asks you to notice where your energy is going, and whether it’s being returned. If everything is given outwards, without that return, burnout isn’t far behind. As difficult as it is to accept, not everything is viable, even when you want it to be. Not every season produces, not everything can be sustained, and not every life survives.
That’s been one of the harder lessons in this season. Knowing when to let go. Accept reality and let go of perception.
And then asking – so, what is still here?
Then the silver lining. A stepping forward, a willingness to take on responsibility, not perfectly, but genuinely. Showing up for what needs to be done, even when it’s not the easiest or most appealing task, or help extended knowing there will be a steep learning curve.
There is a kind of honest pride in that which sits quietly but firmly, the kind that doesn’t need to be spoken loudly to be deeply felt by those who are connected.
This season has been about care and commitment. In the end, a farm doesn’t ask for anything. But it does ask for the right things. And so does life.
So, my Autumn take aways:
Mums are the best, I hope you have got yourself a good one like mine
Gratitude practices are for the brave
Winter is required for there to be Spring