Hellos and goodbyes.

written by

Amy Forsyth

posted on

May 19, 2025

Hellos and goodbyes carry on throughout the farming season leaving in their wake hard days, soft days, big smiles, heartache, gratitude, and everything in between. The hellos beam light, sometimes into crevasses of your body and spirit you didn't even know existed. They are the chirps of baby chicks settling into their brooders, the soft bah of a newborn lamb, the first seed to pop up through the soil, the cows thundering through the pasture exploring their new home, the garlic popping up after a long winters hibernation. These endless hellos bring aliveness to everything and simply hold the hope of the season in their hands. 

And then there are the goodbyes. The goodbyes you know are coming and the ones you don't, the goodbyes that sink your heart and make you question what it all means. Sending animals to processing after a long season of loving them, picking up dead chickens after a coyote pack helped themselves, tilling up a crop you didn't even get to harvest because it failed, watching an ewe who has given you countless lambs get old and frail, a lamb who never even had a chance, losing an animal at your own expense...

Goodbyes used to feel like they were cruelty slapping me in the face. The intimacy that deepened with death on the farm felt too hard, too real. Shying away from it was the only way I thought to manage it. Ignorance is bliss as they always say. But as the seasons went on I noticed something shifting. With each goodbye I started to grow into the reality that these goodbyes are just as important as the hellos. The goodbye to the animal I loaded up on the trailer, leads to an abundance of loved meat honoring their life. It fuels hundreds of people with nourishment that seeps into every cell. The goodbye to the crop that died without harvest blooms curiosity of how we can do better next season, teaching us tips and tricks that will serve. The wildlife attacks of our animals lead to the inventiveness of new ideas on how to protect them, bettering their lives in doing so. The goodbye to the lamb that didn't have a chance sews compassion and tenderness into our hearts that makes it beat stronger for every life we care for. 

So here I am thanking the goodbyes as much as the hellos for the depth they allow me to carry. They have taught me to think twice, be uncomfortable, love deeply, live slowly, feel it all, and simply, to be a better farmer. 

More from the blog

Saying goodbye.

Saying goodbye.

People ask if it gets easier. It doesn’t. You just get better at carrying it. The guilt dulls to a workable ache, like a joint that predicts rain. You learn to separate the animal from the meat in your freezer without lying to yourself. You remember their lives, their heart, and you’re grateful in a complicated way. Farming is a long conversation between care and necessity. Raising animals for food means promising them a good life and a swift, respectful death. Most days the promise feels honorable. Loading day it feels like betrayal. Both are true.I used to want to detach myself from the reality of it, but I realize that it's actually not detachment that eases it, it’s the opposite. It’s knowing them so well that their leaving is stitched into every day they’re here. The joy of a lamb kicking its heels for the first time, the friendly glance and nods from our cows, the soft snorgles and oinks from our pigs—these are the same thread that pulls tight on processing day. You don’t cut the thread. You let it run through your hands until it’s done. Processing day forces you to confront the realities of ethical eating. In a world where meat often arrives pre-packaged and disconnected from where they came from, we've chosen a different way. We know exactly how our animals were treated—kindly, respectfully, without the horrors of industrial farms. Yet, the act itself is bittersweet, a reminder that every meal carries a story, a sacrifice. It's why we pause before each meal, why we waste nothing, and why we commit to doing better each year: rotating pastures, improving infrastructure, ensuring compassionate ends. To anyone reading this who simply wants to understand the farm-to-table truth: it's not glamorous, but it's profound. It deepens your appreciation for the land, the animals, and the quiet strength required to honor both. This isn't just about survival; it's about living in harmony with nature's rhythms, even when they break your heart a little.

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Forsyth Family Farm

  • 300 Gunstock Hill Rd
    Gilford NH 03249
  • 6037503975