Lemon Squeezy Farms

Tag: Chickens

  • The Sale List, the Loading, and the Letting Go

    Friday evening, after a full workday, Marc and I stepped into a different kind of shift. The kind that involves mud on your boots, a good pair of gloves if you’re lucky, and a whole lot of determination.

    We had help from a really great friend and thank goodness for that, because what followed was part rodeo, part relay race, part comedy of errors.

    Six goats.
    Three sheep.
    Countless steps, quick turns, near misses, and the occasional “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

    We herded, chased, caught (and yes, sometimes missed), tagged, and finally loaded them into the trailer. By the end, relief settled in like a deep exhale. They were safe, settled, and ready for the night.

    After we sent our friend home, thoroughly worn out (and probably questioning his life choices just a little), Marc and I turned to phase two.

    Sixteen cages, prepped throughout the week.
    Thirty-one chickens, tucked in after roosting.

    That part? Almost peaceful. Quiet. Methodical. Choosing who would go where felt calm in a way the goat wrangling never could.

    By 11:00 PM, everything outside was done.

    And just like that, we were staring down a 3:30 AM departure.

    The Loudest Place on the Farm Isn’t the Barn

    It’s your own head.

    Because somewhere between loading trailers and making coffee before dawn, the internal dialogue starts up… and it doesn’t whisper.

    It argues.

    “I love this life.”
    “I hate this life.”
    “I’d give anything to sleep in.”
    “But look at that sunrise.”
    “You can do this.”
    “What are you even doing?”

    It’s a full cast of characters in there, and not all of them are kind.

    This winter pushed me in ways I wasn’t prepared for. There were moments I felt completely leveled. Brought right down to my knees.

    But here’s the quiet truth that showed up alongside that struggle:

    Every time I got back up… I stood up a little steadier. A little wiser.

    But no amount of wisdom would ease the weight of the hardest list I ever had to make. Making the sale list with Marc might have been the hardest part of all.

    Because if I try hard enough, I can make a case to keep every single animal.

    Especially the goats.

    Chickens are wonderful, but goats… they have a way of looking at you like they know you. Like they’ve been part of your story longer than they have.

    But reality has its own voice too.

    We only have so much space.
    So much time.
    So much energy.

    And at the heart of it, this isn’t just a hobby. We’re building something. Raising animals well… and letting them go well.

    That’s the deal.

    Understanding that didn’t make the decision easy.
    It just made it possible.

    The Sale Day I Couldn’t Face

    When morning came, I stayed home.

    Marc and our friend went to the sale together, and I knew that was the right call. Some days you can carry it. Some days you can’t.

    This was a “faucets would not turn off” kind of day. I was weepy.

    When Marc got home, he told me everything went smoothly. The animals did well. Things felt right.

    And then he told me a story I’ll keep tucked away for a long time.

    Our little Button stepped into the ring.

    People noticed her blue eyes right away, commenting on how beautiful she was.

    And then, from somewhere in the bleachers, a woman said:

    “Well, look at her… she’s cute as a button.”

    No one there knew her name.

    And somehow… they still got it exactly right.

    Some things don’t need explaining. They just are. 💛

    The Quiet After

    The past few days have felt… different.

    Quieter.
    Calmer.
    Like the whole farm took a deep breath.

    Maybe we all needed it… humans and animals alike.

    To the Ones Who Moved On

    Gandolph.
    Tulip.
    Nubbie.
    Bandit.
    Jack.
    Ma.
    John.
    Cheryl.
    Button.

    You left hoofprints on more than just the ground.

    Because of you, there were tears.
    And laughter.
    And lessons I couldn’t have learned any other way.

    Thank you for being part of this wild, beautiful chapter.

    Moving Forward (Even When It’s Hard)

    I keep coming back to a quote from Walt Disney:

    “Around here, however, we don’t look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things, because we’re curious… and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.“

    And so we keep going… a little lighter, a little wiser, and still willing to follow this beautifully messy road wherever it leads next. 🍋

  • Still Here, Just Catching Our Breath – Refocusing Life at Lemon Squeezy Farms

    There are weekends… and then there are capital – W Weekends. The kind that leave your boots by the door like they’ve retired and your muscles writing strongly worded letters the next morning. Out here at Lemon Squeezy Farms, Marc and I just lived one of those.

    First, the great hen house reset… it was time. Time to face the deep litter. If you’ve ever used the deep litter method, you know it’s a bit like a slow-building novel that ends in … a very intense final chapter. All winter long, our chickens do what chickens do, and we layer bedding over it, again and again, letting nature do its warm, composting magic. No heat lamps here, just hardy birds and a system that works with them, not against them.

    But spring? Spring calls the bills due. So out came the masks, the rakes, the shovels… and a level of determination that can only be fueled by fresh air and stubbornness. While we were at it, we tackled a pesky leak and reroofed the hen house, because apparently we enjoy adding “construction crew” to our resumes mid-clean out. And let me tell you something: There is nothing quite like that moment when you step back into a freshly cleaned coop. It’s like the whole place exhales… and so do you.

    Secondly, we’ve got goats on the move! Our barn residents were more than ready for their own upgrade. Poppy, our bottle baby Boer girl, along with Fiona and her sweet little duo, Peaches and Rosie, officially moved out into their goat space. The timing finally felt right. The air has softened just enough, and the sun has started to feel like it’s working with us again, well, when it decides to come out.

    Poppy wasted zero time making herself at home. New platform? Claimed. Big tractor tire? Playground. Open space? Sprint zone. She still shadows like a loyal little sidekick, but now with more room to bounce, leap, and show off.

    Fiona, ever the watchful mama, seemed relieved to stretch her legs and let the girls explore something bigger than stall walls. And slowly but surely, she’s softening toward Poppy. It’s not quite sisterhood yet… but we’re getting there.

    In about a week, we’ll bring the fainting goats into this enclosure too, turning it into their shared space. And as Poppy grows, she’ll eventually graduate to the larger area with Mabel, our other former bottle baby. These transitions always feel a little like watching chapter turn in real time.

    Thirdly, we’ve got fences down and plans up. We’ve stated something bigger… a full chicken restructure. That meant pulling fencing, removing runs, and reimagining how everything fits together. And can we just take a moment to appreciate the humble hero of the weekend? The t-post remover. That thing worked so slick it almost made fence pulling feel… fun. Almost.

    Fourthly, and finally, the part we don’t always say out loud. Here’s the truth tucked between all the projects and progress:

    This winter was hard.

    Not just the cold, not just the chores… but the weight of it all. The kind of season that makes you quietly wonder if you’ll come out the other side still loving what you built. Marc and I had more than a few heart-to-heart talks. The kind where you sit in the middle of it all and admit something isn’t working the way it should. Somewhere along the line, what we meant to build together started pulling us in opposite directions. That’s a hard thing to say out loud. It feels a little like failure. But maybe it’s not.

    Maybe it’s just… awareness. Adjustment. Growth with dirt still under your nails. So we’re making changes. Scaling back. Refocusing. Finding a version of this life that lets us not just run the farm… but actually live in it together. Because what’s the point of all this if we never get to sit down, breathe, and watch a North Dakota sunset side by side?

    As we look ahead, we’re sore. No question about it. We’re also proud. And a little hopeful. This weekend brings a sale, and with it, the bittersweet part of farm life. Saying goodbye never gets easy. There’s always that pull… wishing we could keep every animal, grow the herd endlessly, hold onto every story. But this isn’t just a hobby. It’s a rhythm of raising, growing, and letting go. And we’re learning to find peace in that too.

    For now, we’re catching our breath. Planning gardens. Dreaming up summer projects. Looking forward to evenings by the fire pit and keeping this little corner of the internet updated with all the life happening here.

    We make it through winter. We’re still here.

    And right now, that feels like more than enough.