Spring Doesn’t Show Up Pretty

This week I’ve been out in the garden.

Not the picture-perfect version you see online. Not the clean rows, fresh mulch, and neatly spaced plants.

The real version.

Beds that are rough from winter. Dry wind-swept soil. Old stems still hanging on where they shouldn’t be. And weeds already pushing through.

It doesn’t look like much right now.

And honestly… neither does the rest of the farm right now.

This time of year is always a little humbling. You spend all winter planning, thinking about what you’re going to do differently, how things are going to be better—and then you step outside and realize you’re starting in a mess again, the same mess you put off last fall, telling yourself you’ll have more energy come spring.

But this is real life.

Not the polished version people like to show.

The real one.

And it’s not just the garden feeling it.

Kidding season is here, and that brings its own kind of chaos.

People see the baby goats and think it’s all sweet and simple. And yes—there are moments like that. When they’re bouncing around, figuring out their legs, or curled up next to their mom.

But that’s not the whole story.

The whole story looks more like long days and even longer nights. Checking cameras before bed. Waking up and checking again. Watching a doe and wondering if she’s close… or if you’re just overthinking it.

Again.

It’s standing out there in the cold or wind, waiting. Giving them space but not too much. Trying to trust the process while still being ready if something goes wrong.

It’s second-guessing yourself even when you’ve done this before.

It’s worrying when labor seems slow. Watching for signs. Running through everything in your head—what’s normal, what’s not, what you should do next.

And then, when it finally happens… it’s fast.

Messy. Intense. Real.

And suddenly there’s a baby on the ground.

Then another.

And sometimes another.

Wet, wobbly, and trying to figure out how to exist in a world they just got dropped into.

And you’re standing there, tired, a little dirty, probably still worrying—but also watching something that never really gets old.

New life.

And while all of that is going on, the rest of the work doesn’t stop.

The garden still needs attention. The barn still needs cleaned. Hay still needs moved. Mulch still needs shoveled.

And you feel it.

In the kind of way that doesn’t go away with a good night’s sleep.

In feet that you already wore down years ago working as a firefighter—feet that remind you of it every time you’re on them too long.

In a back that starts to ache after hours of shoveling mulch in the garden or hauling out old hay from the barn.

It’s a different kind of tired this time of year.

Not just “I need a nap” tired.

It’s deep. It lingers. It follows you into the next day.

But you still get up and do it again.

Because this is what spring actually looks like.

Not clean. Not easy. Not calm.

It’s a lot of work. It’s unpredictability. It’s showing up when you’re already worn down and doing it anyway.

It’s going out to the barn one more time “just to check.” It’s hauling water, fixing fences, cleaning up spaces that are just going to get messy again.

It’s going out to the garden knowing it doesn’t look like much yet and starting anyway.

Because this is the part most people skip over.

They see the full garden later. They see the healthy animals, the full milk pails, the finished products.

They don’t see the in-between.

The part where everything looks a little rough. A little behind. A little uncertain.

But this part matters more than any of the rest.

This is where the foundation is built.

Every row you clean up. Every animal you care for. Every time you show up—even when your feet hurt, your back aches, and you’re running on less sleep than you should—it all adds up.

You don’t get the good parts without this part.

You don’t get a thriving garden without starting in the mess.

You don’t get healthy kids without walking through the stress of kidding season.

You don’t get growth without doing the work when it’s inconvenient.

So if things feel a little messy right now… you’re not behind.

If your garden doesn’t look like much yet… that’s normal.

If you’re tired from long nights in the barn and long days on your feet… that’s part of it.

If you’re questioning things a little… you’re not the only one.

You’re just in the middle of spring.

The real version.

This is spring—the messy, exhausting, unpredictable middle of it all. The aches, the worries, the long days—they’re not wasted. They’re what make the blooms bloom, the kids strong, and the garden thrive. It doesn’t look pretty yet, but this is where it all begins, and every bit of effort now is the foundation for everything that comes next.

And I’m excited for what comes next, it makes all the hard work worth it year after year.