When someone says farmers are dumb, I have to laugh. If only I had the knowledge of all my ancestors from only a few generations ago to guide me on my own little farm. The internet comes in handy but in the last two weeks I've had moments of what it must have been like in small farming communities. I was raised on prideful individualism--never ask questions or seek help. But I had to reach out about a ewe's prolapse and then another ewe's health. I dreaded judgement, but what I got instead was more knowledge and friendship. Lovely writing!
This is gorgeous, so evocative. It’s not as poetic, but you might like to read some my dad’s old diary entries from birdwatching records he kept in the 1980s when he lived on the Blackwater estuary and was a warden of a nature reserve there. I’ve been posting them on my Substack called AUGURY. He documents the flora and fauna and the changing seasons in a similarly loving and poignant way to you, again no ‘formal training’ as you say, but just years of being outside among it all with eyes and ears open. Thank you for writing such a lovely post!
I can’t help but think of how the process of learning to know the land on which you live and learning to know another human (whether as lover, mother, midwife, or friend) are one and the same.
Also, I’ve followed your Substack for a while under a different email address…and what a reassuring thing it is to come read your writings while I learn how to tend my own tiny flock of sheep!
When someone says farmers are dumb, I have to laugh. If only I had the knowledge of all my ancestors from only a few generations ago to guide me on my own little farm. The internet comes in handy but in the last two weeks I've had moments of what it must have been like in small farming communities. I was raised on prideful individualism--never ask questions or seek help. But I had to reach out about a ewe's prolapse and then another ewe's health. I dreaded judgement, but what I got instead was more knowledge and friendship. Lovely writing!
This is gorgeous, so evocative. It’s not as poetic, but you might like to read some my dad’s old diary entries from birdwatching records he kept in the 1980s when he lived on the Blackwater estuary and was a warden of a nature reserve there. I’ve been posting them on my Substack called AUGURY. He documents the flora and fauna and the changing seasons in a similarly loving and poignant way to you, again no ‘formal training’ as you say, but just years of being outside among it all with eyes and ears open. Thank you for writing such a lovely post!
I can’t help but think of how the process of learning to know the land on which you live and learning to know another human (whether as lover, mother, midwife, or friend) are one and the same.
Also, I’ve followed your Substack for a while under a different email address…and what a reassuring thing it is to come read your writings while I learn how to tend my own tiny flock of sheep!
Your writing makes me want to read and learn more about you and your land. Love your dedication in honoring the land and the animals. Thank you.
Beautiful! Thank you for this. 🌬️🌱🪺🕊️