January. The slow dawns of winter wake us gently, the twilight place between light and not-light stretching long and spreading thick over the valley. These days I become awake in stages; with the first rooster calls, with the dogs beginning
There are tiny prickles in the palms of my hands, millimetre-long slivers from a week of working with recycled wood. My hands aren’t hardened but they are willing, and the tool shed takes shape quickly under the direction of my
It’s been a couple years now that we’ve been batting around the idea of living in a bus. It’s not so radical now; all sorts of clever people have converted these rock-solid tubes-on-wheels into campers or full on tiny palaces.
This is the very beginning of a story that, like any story, happens both at the end of one story and also smack-dab in the middle of all kinds of other stories. This particular beginning is about how Louka, a
We have had the coldest February on record. I don’t mean to brag, or complain, because we are not alone – most of the province is breaking its own February records – and also because I have so little to
One very cold morning, I watched the raven fly through the wood smoke,across the open field,and south-east toward the winter sunrise,where Firefly stood in fresh-ploughed tracks,alone and still.She did not begrudge the company, nor the admiration,but was extremely busy doing
This article originally appeared October 22, 2018 for Listen To Your Horse.com as part of a series about life on the farmstead, called “Rewilding the Herd”. “Rewilding, though a handsome term and a romantic one at first glance, has come