Coming Back to the Edges

For a long time, this space held the small, everyday pieces of my life.

Lunches packed. Shoes by the door. The kind of tired that only comes from raising little kids and trying to hold everything together at once. I wrote because I didn’t want to forget how it felt—the fullness of it, even when it was hard.

And then, like most things do, that season changed.

The kids got older. Life got fuller in different ways. And somewhere along the line, I stopped writing.

Not because there was nothing to say—but maybe because I wasn’t quite sure how to say it anymore.

Lately, I’ve felt that pull again. Not back to what this space was, but forward into what it might become.

Because something else has been quietly growing in the background.

In 2023, we brought cattle back to the farm.

It wasn’t a grand plan or a big statement. It was small, just two heifers. Intentional, but also a little uncertain. If I’m being honest, my role in it is still small—and in some ways, self-serving. I love it. The rhythm of it. The responsibility. The way it pulls me outside and into something real at the end of a long day.

My dad still runs the farm. He owns it, carries it, knows it in a way I probably never will. What I’m doing doesn’t compare to that—and I don’t want to pretend that it does.

But I am finding my place here.

Not at the center of it. Maybe not even close.

More like… along the edges.

And the edges, I’m learning, are still part of the story.

This land has held our family for generations. There’s something grounding about that—something that makes everything else feel a little less urgent and a little more connected. It's also intimidating—the legacy is another character in the story.

I don’t know exactly what this next chapter looks like. But I'm peaking out, finding my way.

I’m not stepping into ownership or trying to claim something that isn’t mine. I’m just showing up, in the ways that I can. Learning. Paying attention. Letting it matter.

And maybe that’s enough.

So this space might start to look a little different.

Still family. Always family.
But maybe more dirt under it.
More seasons.
More stories about what it means to belong to a place—and to try, in small ways, to carry it forward.

Not perfectly. Not fully.

Just honestly.

I think that’s where I want to begin again.