This week on the farm...

written by

Amy Forsyth

posted on

February 22, 2025



This week was soaked in hanging out with our herd. Observing them, caring for them, and oh so many lamb snuggles. It's been such a joy watching the lambs come into their personalities. We definitely have a few spunky ones! We are happy with this lambing season thus far, beautiful healthy babies are a win. 

Seedlings are popping up in our seeding greenhouse! So exciting to see the new little life growing amongst the winter hues. All of our tomatoes seeds have popped up, what a feeling. 

We continue to work on our plans for this coming season, marinating on new ideas and tweaking some old ideas. With the new property comes a lot of uncertainty, but one thing that is certain is we will be growing some very delicious and nutritious food for you all. 

Off for more lamb hugs... xo.

More from the blog

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.