My month of wintering has been rather uneventful, I’m trying to figure out if I am disappointed in that? I had pictured in my mind there would be great turmoil followed by a mighty revelation. So far, no turmoil. Though I did carry into the house my milking stool and Promises bell last week, if you are new here Promise was our cow. I decided there was no sense in letting the sturdy wood stool painted in adorable sage green sit out in the barn not getting used. I propped it up on the counter, admiring how well made it was (and how covered in manure it was) and decided I better give it a good scrubbing. While I was scrubbing the muddy spindles where my boots rubbed, I saw out of the corner of my eye the collar and bell setting there on the table. All of a sudden it hit me that I was done milking and there would be no Promise waiting for me at the gate ever again. That my faithful milking stool was now just going to reside next to the bathtub, a place for me to set my towel. The tears came and soon harsh sobs had me bent over the cold white porcelain apron sink as I grieved the loss of my beloved cow for the first time since we had to put a bullet in her head. Sorry to be harsh, but it’s the truth and for as shocking as it is to read, it’s more shocking to live through. Farm life is brutal, it can be so damn ugly, and it so often rips your guts out. The worst part was I couldn’t mourn her properly when she died, and it was time I finally did, and now I was. As I picture myself draped over the sink sobbing, I see now that perhaps I did have great turmoil after all. I suppose that means I am wintering well.
Why couldn’t we mourn properly you ask? Well, when Promise calved and became ill, we were in full blown survival mode on the farm. The days that turned to weeks were hard, long and strenuous. Little sleep was had, and worry plagued our every waking moment as we tried to save Promise and her calf Pearl. Of course, during that time is when an entitled asshat decided to take to social media and complain about me and I was bombarded with some of the most heinous and nasty messages you can imagine. Along with personal threats and a dash of black mail. So, as you can imagine there wasn’t much headspace for letting our broken hearts release the grief of our beloved cow or the end of milk on our farm. Hence the need for me to “winter” and break free from the deranged world of crazies that tend to gather together in the dredges of social media. Though, I do have to extend a bit of gratitude to the crazies, they whacked me so hard I had no choice but to abruptly pause and catch my breath. It reminded me of a time in fourth grade when I had the wind knocked out of me. It was recess and I was coming down the slide on the school playground, a classmate pulled me by my feet off the hot metal slide. My back hitting the packed dirt ground so hard I couldn’t breathe. My breath was lost for a few seconds, though it felt like minutes. Theres always going to be someone who tries to knock the wind out of us in this world. Then we take a deep breath filling our lungs back up with air and see the blessings of God at being able to breathe again.
Wintering has been a time of getting back to my why. Why we moved here. Why we bought this farm in the first place. We wanted to live a simple, quiet life in an old farmhouse where we can live as close to 1742 (when this house was built) as we possibly can in 2025. To go against the grain of consumerism and materialist ideology that has plagued our society. To me wealth and riches is living a life where we aren’t busy, time is abundant and the feeling of being rushed is foreign. I want the freedom to follow the rhythm of the day and go where the Holy Spirit leads me, not where my phone calendar tells me where to be. Slow, peaceful days, meandering through the garden bare foot with the sun on my face.
Somewhere along the way I got lost. But now I am found.
With gratitude,
Angie
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