I started our honeymoon eating a hot, soggy sandwich with mediocre fries. Which would not be that great of a story except that some 12 hours later, this series of events led me to have massive amounts of gastric distress on the side of the tallest mountain in NY State. This, dear Reader, is your call to adventure.

No chickens were technically harmed in the writing of this article. But vegans, you may want to look away. Because a few years ago a chicken died on my watch. And I was the only home to do anything about it…

A few visits from a brave (and horny?) fox rattled my nerves. But the fox was only a small blip in a much more troublesome month…

I was only a few short weeks into homesteading when I learned why both pesticides and Jesus ended up on farms with such frequency. As I fought my own battle, I wondered which I would be needing on this farm going forward.

Moving is hard. Moving with chickens is harder. But a lot a bit of kindness got us through.

In the frustration of selling a home and the constant rejection of trying to buy a new one, a rocking chair became my silent protest and in it, I found a slowness and stillness I could never have found otherwise.