Our oldest officially caught the farm bug. She fed guineas, checked on gardens, took out the trash like it was her life’s calling, and even harvested some veggies. She was in her element, walking around like she’d been hired on as farmhand-in-chief. It was honestly beautiful to watch—there’s nothing like seeing your child fall in love with a way of life so different from their everyday. It also tells me I need to hurry up and get our vegetable garden fenced off!
Meanwhile, the littles got in some good three-wheeler time and supervised in their own chaotic fashion. Our middle child was the self-appointed barnyard DJ, singing nonsense songs to the chickens and pretending to be a cow whisperer.
I got to till the garden (yes, me!) with a tractor. There’s something deeply satisfying about making rows for pumpkins while smelling like diesel and ambition. Yay for modern technically because after I was shown the real old tractor and was surprised it still turned over. There’s also something a little terrifying about trusting machinery from before World War II, but hey—it worked.
Post-lunch, we tackled woodcutting. Believe it or not, that old tractor POWERS the saw. That old tractor that’s nearly 90 years old, with zero safety guards and max satisfaction. It’s basically a miracle from the pre-lawyer age. We stacked enough wood to impress even the pickiest squirrel. And hopefully it is a start to keeping the house warm this summer.
And then—the chicks. Hatched. That evening, we brought them into the living room in a bucket, and the kids were smitten. They huddled around like it was the campfire of their dreams, naming each one and whispering secrets to them while a summer storm rolled in. Thunder, baby chicks, and a room full of sleepy kids? That’s the good stuff.
Run Teach Bike 