🌿 A Spring Arrival at Lemon Squeezy Farms: Welcome Peaches & Rosie

Marc and I had been watching Fiona closely, keeping a quiet eye on her from our little “birthing ward.” This past Thursday night, just before bed, I checked the cameras one more time. Fiona was lying there looking… uncomfortable. Not distressed, but not settled either. The kind of feeling that makes you pause and pay attention.

I told Marc, “If you wake up in the night, check the cameras.”
I promised I’d do the same.

Sometime after 2:00 a.m., I woke up and, after a quick trip to the bathroom, I pulled up the camera feed.

What I saw—and heard—had me immediately reaching over and waking Marc:

“Marc! Fiona had her babies! I see two babies!”

In a flurry of layers and rubber boots, I rushed out into the night, the kind of cold that wakes you up fast but doesn’t touch the adrenaline.

And oh… what joy!

There they were. Two tiny, perfect little lives. My first close look stopped me in my tracks—because there was no mistaking it. Their dad was Chunk. It was like looking at little versions of him, right down to their coloring.

Both girls were already being cleaned. Both alert. Both working through that brand-new, wobbly determination to figure out how to stand, how to nurse, how to exist in this big, bright world.

I climbed right into the stall with them.

Fiona had done an incredible job. Calm, steady, and completely at ease—even with me sitting right there beside her. I stayed close, watching her as she finished delivering the afterbirth. And then, in one of those raw and natural moments that still manages to feel sacred, she ate it—instinctively giving her body exactly what it needed.

Life has a way of reminding you who’s really in charge of things.

And it’s beautiful.

After a Heavy Winter

This winter at Lemon Squeezy Farms was heavy. The kind of season that lingers longer than it should and asks more of you than you feel ready to give. It was emotionally draining. There were moments of doubt, moments of questioning, and more than a few days where everything felt like an uphill climb through snow that just wouldn’t let go.

But we stayed.

Marc and I kept going—determined… or maybe just a little stubborn. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.

And then, in the quiet hours of an early April morning, something shifted.

Standing in that stall, watching two tiny goats wobble into life, it felt like the weight of winter loosened its grip just a little. Like something cracked open and let the light back in.

There is something deeply humbling about watching new life begin.

The first uncertain steps.
The instinct to search for nourishment.
The tiny hops that seem to come out of nowhere, like joy bubbling up from the inside.

It’s impossible not to feel it. That quiet, steady reminder that life continues. That growth happens. That hope doesn’t ask for perfect conditions—it just shows up anyway.

Farm-Style Spa Treatments

By the time the girls were a day old, I noticed Fiona looked a little… lopsided.

Her babies had clearly chosen a favorite side, leaving one side emptied out and the other edging toward engorged. And if you’ve ever nursed babies—human or otherwise—you know exactly what that can turn into if it’s not addressed.

The warmth.
The pressure.
The very real risk of mastitis.

So, we stepped in.

Fiona has been getting what I’ve started calling her farm-style spa treatments—warm compresses, cool compresses, gentle massage, and a bit of hand-milking to relieve the pressure. It’s not glamorous, but it’s necessary.

At the same time, I’ve been working with Peaches and Rosie, trying to convince them that there is more than one option when it comes to the milk bar. They, like most of us, are creatures of habit. Once they found what worked, they stuck with it.

But we’re making progress.

Fiona has been nothing short of incredible through it all. Patient. Trusting. Steady. She allows me to help without stress, without resistance, as if she knows we’re working toward the same goal.

And after her “spa sessions,” she gets a few animal crackers—because every good mama deserves a little treat.

I know how lucky I am to witness this. To sit in the quiet of that stall and watch the bond between a mother and her babies unfold in real time.

Peaches & Rosie

I’ve named the girls Peaches and Rosie.

I don’t know which one was born first, and truthfully, it doesn’t matter. I also couldn’t tell you which one is cuter—because that feels like an impossible decision.

What I do know is this: Fiona has given this farm a gift.

Not just the gift of new life—but the gift of thriving life.

Strong, alert, curious little girls who are already beginning to explore the world around them.

When Spring Really Arrived

Spring, by the calendar, arrived on March 20th.
(It also happens to be the birthday of my oldest child, which has always made it feel meaningful in its own way.)

But this year, spring didn’t arrive on a date.

It arrived in the early hours of April 10th.
On tiny hooves.
In soft bleats that cut through the quiet dark.
In the steady strength of a good mother and the bright spark of two new lives.

This is when spring began for us.

Not when the snow melted.
Not when the calendar said so.
But when life returned in a way we could see, touch, and feel.

Welcome to this beautiful, chaotic world, Peaches and Rosie. 💛🐐
You are already so loved.

And Fiona… you’ve reminded me, once again, just how strong and good a mother can be.

“See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come.”
— Song of Songs 2:11–12

At 2AM… everything changed 💛