Small Steps

In this week's Riverdance Farm journal, I reflect on finding routine after a difficult season, the quiet progress happening behind the scenes, and the small steps that continue to move life forward. From welcoming five new Angora goats to the farm after a visit to GoatFest in Tasmania, to the ongoing development of our future fibre mill and homestead renovations, this is a story about foundations, resilience and building dreams one piece at a time.

Join me for reflections on farm life in Tasmania, mohair production, rural community, and the reminder that sometimes the most important progress is the kind that happens quietly.

Today I've shared a journal entry called Returning to Crabtree.

It wasn't an easy one to write.

Life has taken an unexpected turn and, for now, we've returned to Crabtree. There has been a great deal of grief, change, uncertainty and rebuilding happening behind the scenes, and I've been quieter than usual as I've tried to find my feet again.

The farm has seen me through difficult seasons before. While I'm not yet ready to call this one a gift, I am grateful for the people who have carried me when I couldn't carry myself.

There is still a baby due in October. There are still animals to feed. There are still dreams quietly flickering away in the background, waiting for their time.

Perhaps rebuilding doesn't always mean building bigger. Perhaps it means building truer.

Thank you to everyone who has checked in, held space, offered kindness, or simply stayed close.

It has meant more than you'll ever know. 🤍

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?

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.

An inside look at alpaca welfare, annual shearing, herd hierarchy and cria season in Tasmania, and how ethical husbandry shapes small-scale fibre production and future fibre mill development. 

This week’s farm journal is a personal one.

About being a dog woman.

About grief that arrives without warning.

About alpacas, impending cria, and making decisions that put animals first.

Some weeks are for progress. This one was for remembering.

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

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 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.

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.