2003. The year that Papa and Mumsie moved our family to Little Brook and we became farm girls.
Monterey, the earnest eldest.
Adelaide, the mischievous middle-little.
And lastly me, Margaret, the baby with muddy feet and twigs in her hair.
We didn’t know what this rather chaotic, unexpected, 75-acre decision would bring. When the first autumn came, we watched in naive surprise the long, uncut grass laying flat and dead in the meadows. And we learned – quickly – the basics of keeping land. As years passed, we slowly continued what (in retrospect) was a homesteading journey: The chicken flock started growing. The garden adventures began multiplying. Adelaide began fermenting vegetables, and I had bubbly crocks of sourdough on the counter. Our first Angus cows arrived – and promptly ran away. We fixed our fences and tried again. Then the milk cow, pigs, and a brief, untutored stint with bees. As time went on, I began being more and more interested in this way of life. I decided to take our homesteading adventures on Little Brook to the next level and become a farmer.
So sometimes, buying a big chunk of messy land is the best way to hatch a farmer in the family and start a farm.