We were ready for it.
The forecasts had us bracing, watching the skies, preparing for another round of winter’s grip. You know the kind… where you settle in, plan around it, maybe even mentally prepare for a long, slow stretch of white and cold.
But this time… it didn’t really come.
The snow fell, yes. Just enough to cover things, just enough to make it feel like winter still had something to say. But by this afternoon, it was already melting. Slipping away. Turning into puddles and rivulets that ran through the ditches like little rivers.
And just like that, what could have been a storm turned into mud.
That feels about right for this season.
Nothing is quite what you expect. Not fully winter, not fully spring. Just this in-between space… messy, shifting, a little uncertain under your boots. You step outside and don’t quite know what you’re walking into. Ice? Mud? Water? All three?
Lately, life has felt a bit like that too.
Plans don’t always unfold the way we think they will. Things we brace for don’t arrive with the force we imagined. And sometimes, in the middle of all that uncertainty… something completely unexpected finds its way in.
Like a quick trip to town.
Marc and I ran up to Grafton, just a simple errand, the kind you don’t think much about. But if you’ve lived this life long enough, you know those “quick trips” have a way of turning into something more.
Because somehow… we came home with two Turkens and four turkey chicks.
As one does.
There’s something about spring that makes it hard to resist new life. Even when the ground is still muddy. Even when the skies are gray. Even when winter hasn’t fully let go. Maybe especially then.
Because these in-between seasons, as uncertain as they feel, are also where the beginnings happen.
The quiet ones.
The ones that don’t always make sense on paper.
The ones that remind you that life keeps moving forward, even when everything around you feels a little unsettled.
Tonight, the snow is mostly gone. The yard is soft and wet. The chickens are still out, doing their thing, unbothered by the gray skies. And in the brooder, there’s the soft peeping of new little lives adjusting to their new home.
It’s not picture-perfect spring.
But it’s real.
And maybe that’s what this season is meant to teach us…
That growth doesn’t wait for perfect conditions.
That joy can show up in the middle of the mess.
And that sometimes, the storms we prepare for turn into something entirely different… making room for something we didn’t even know we needed.
Even if it comes with feathers.
Lemon Squeezy Farms 
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