It’s a normal Wednesday in Winter. But what is normal? Each year, each season, each day of the week as it comes back again brings about variations that keep me on my toes. Today, for example. A is away on business and I’m playing Homestead Mama on my own. Woke up at 7 (no; got out of bed at 7, Sadie woke me at 6 with her barking), bundled up, and went outside for morning duties. I love having the water access in the barn now- it makes these daily chores much more pleasant. I fill up a 5 gallon bucket with hot (very hot!!), water from the soapstone sink and slosh it over to the duck run. I can fill their rubber tub with this water and it stays mostly unfrozen throughout the day if the temps don’t get too low. Back to the barn for a bucket refill to divide over their water bowls for drinking. Sadie meanwhile is inspecting the perimeter of the property: sniffing the trail of any critters that passed through overnight, digging a few exploratory holes here and there, discovering a hidden frisbee if she’s lucky. She’s always right at my heels, ready to drop the frisbee (or not), to have me throw for her. I keep on with the duck chores and fill their food bowls and let them outside accompanied by a chorus of their own quacking. Today there was a single egg, which is the norm now during these deep winter months. I appreciate that. For so much of the year I’m pressured to use up or sell the half a dozen eggs they lay for us daily, that in the winter an egg a day feels more manageable, or even like a novelty. We’re having guests come this weekend and actually had to go buy eggs from the store in preparation. I was slightly horrified. One of the small but significant shifts I’ve made without realizing.

Inside to feed Sadie (who would never let me forget this important step in the routine), and to start the sourdough bread with the starter I fed last night. I used to consider bread a treat of the sinful variety, but now I can’t seem to go more than a week or two without making a loaf of it either to serve with dinner, to give away to neighbors who plow our driveway, or to freeze for later. While the bread dough is resting, I call friends and putter around the house (I love puttering). Now that guests are coming, I see the house a little more critically and realize I have to change that lightbulb, finally bring that pile of holiday decorations to the basement, and I really should sweep under the couch. Between Sadie and myself, there’s a lot of shedding that happens. I force myself to save a window of time to work out. I had hoped to do a new pilates routine I found online, but my hip is giving me problems again, so I settle for my stationary bike and watching old French and Saunders episodes. It’s disappointing that my body doesn’t always perform the way I want it to, but it’s something I’m working at accepting. Especially because I’m sure that will begin to happen more and more.

I pop the bread in the oven, shower, and check on the ducks to make sure at least one of their water bowls is still upright and that they don’t need more food. They love making a mess and still haven’t figured out that walking through their water bowl makes it spill. I check behind the coop and under the platform for any more eggs. Looks like just the one today. Sadie is outside with me, of course. Even when deeply asleep, she’ll hear the back door open and come running, ready to do her job. I leave her outside and go back in to take the bread from the oven and a short time later notice some movement outside the back door. There’s a stranger there, playing frisbee with Sadie. It turns out he’s the Amazon delivery person and she convinced him to take a break and play with her. I love that I didn’t immediately feel nervous about seeing a stranger on my property and would like to think some of my hardened city skin is softening. Perhaps another small but significant shift.

I deliver the bread to a friend who lives nearby, check in on a dog client (have I mentioned I’m a dog nanny?), and come back to the raucous welcome of the ducks. They don’t need anything from me, but they love to rush the fence and make a racket when I come home. Sadie comes back outside to make sure they’re not alerting her to a predator, then convinces me to play frisbee with her. Again. The snow is covering most of the ground still and I think it will stay for the next week at least. I feel cheated when it’s winter but without snow, and even worse when it’s winter and it’s rainy and soggy. I love the intensity of the seasons and how in upstate New York they’re so completely what they are: the winter bitingly cold and white and hard, the spring audaciously bursting with life, the summer decadently abundant in flowers and vegetables and hours of sunlight, and the fall on fire with color, holding onto its vibrancy until the last possible moment. I don’t like when they get confused and throw us a rainstorm in January or a snowstorm in late spring. I like being prepared.

In the spirit of preparation, I’ve signed up for an online goat course through The Thrifty Homesteader, taught by goat owner and teacher Deborah Niemann. There are hours of videos, lectures, and monthly zoom calls, which I’ve already started attending with my list of questions. I’m a little daunted and often come away with even more questions than I started with, but at least the questions are new ones that I usually get an answer to soon enough. I asked her about the idea of the “governess goat” our breeder thought we might want to buy (A suggested I ask that one), and she said it was absolutely not necessary and did I really want an unproductive animal that I had to house and feed? Good question. Another one for me to try and answer. I’ve gone back and re-read a book I’d loved a few years ago called Flat Broke With Two Goats, by Jennifer McGaha. It’s an autobiography of a sudden and somewhat reluctant homesteader, and I learned a lot about goat-raising both times I read it. There are so many resources out there and I’m feeling overwhelmed. But I’m trying to stick to the basics and keep focused on my specific goals and questions. I know the breed, I know my climate, and I know what I want the goats for. I can focus now on nutritional and environmental needs of baby dairy goats and worry (a lot), about the breeding, kidding, and milking of the goats later, when the time comes. I’m glad we waited 3+ years on this homestead before diving into this giant new pool. While my city skin has softened, my country skin has toughened, and I feel more confident and clear now that we can manage this. I see animals very differently now and see how much they have to teach me. They’re not my pets, I’m not their master. We work together in this little slice of a world we’re building together.

It’s 4:15 now and it’s starting to get just a little dark. The ducks have another hour before I put them in for the night, away from the nocturnal fox that I’ve seen on the security cameras. It’ll be quiet here tonight with just Sadie and me. And my thoughts. Tomorrow I turn 40 and I’m surprised that I’m a little nervous about it. There’s a weekend of celebrations ahead of me that I’m very much looking forward to. But I’m also grateful for the solitude and mental space tonight to sort through some of my thoughts. Will I see myself differently? Expect different things of myself now that I’m really grown up? Will I have to work harder, faster, with more focus, because time is shortening? I’m thrilled to realize that there’s not really anything I’d change about my life moving forward, just that I want “more” of it. A deepening of the skills I’m learning, more connections with the town and community around me, more singing gigs, more hours spent on the gardens and their harvest. And maybe more nights like this when I sit with the beauty, the fear, the routine, and the unknown of what’s to come.

Goodnight and thank you for keeping me company.