I wonder what it's like to grow up here.
With a daily rhythm so different from the one I knew as a child.
Here, where there is no alarm clock, no hurrying for the bus, no homework. Where both learning and chores have a different context than I knew growing up. Certainly, much of our learning happens around the kitchen table with books and supplies piled high, or in the woods, the workshop, the library, and out in the world. But an abundance of it also happens here.
On the farm.
Together each morning we bring a warm bottle to the lamb who couldn't figure out nursing. Little Buttercup. We have watched him go from scrawny to strong with each meal we provide.
We haul hay, feed minerals, give herbs, and fill water.
We gather eggs – some to sell, some to eat, and some to hatch.
We tend the eggs in the incubator. First quail and chickens, now turkeys, then ducks.
We pause our work to watch the cranes fly down the valley or the eagles circle back onto their nest.
We listen to the cluck of a happy hen and the hooting of a barred owl in the woods, then laugh at the joyous romps of a hungry lamb.
Each morning – long after the school bus goes by – this is how we start our day.
Out here with the chickens, sheep, goats, and ducks.
Here we develop focus and discipline. We do research and experiments and learn through hard work and loss. We practice patience and discover an intimate connection to our food cycle and the earth and the seasons. And yes, so much more.
And so each morning this is where you'll find us.
Lingering a bit longer than we need to after our chores are done, soaking up the lessons that this little farm provides.