The chicks have outgrown their woodshed turned brooder. The spots are fading on the baby deer. The wild turkeys are growing fuller every day. The tree leaves are turning glorious shades. The plants are dying back , sinking their energy deep into their roots. I’m reluctantly getting used to the alarm clock ringing and waking me before the sun. 

In Atlanta, we were working 12-hour days during the week, sometimes on the weekends. We had limited seasonal access to truly nutritious food, dependent upon what the farmers provided at the seasonal markets. We were buying our drinking water at the store from glass bottles, constantly battling traffic and pollution.

None of those things seemed particularly dramatic on their own. But collectively, they created a way of living that never really allowed us to fully exhale.

Moving from Atlanta to the farm has been one of the biggest shifts in pace and perspective I’ve experienced. Atlanta was vibrant, stimulating, and full of life.

Life on the farm is a completely different pace.

I wake up with the sun, walk outside with my cup of coffee, listen to the birds, and watch the mama deer and her fawn walk through the back corner of the property.