To Run Through a Meadow

Early in our marriage, maybe even before the rings were on our fingers, Brett and I were on one of those backroad drives where hope comes easier than answers. We turned a corner out near Battle Ground Lake and suddenly a meadow opened up before us. Tall grass, wildflowers, light pouring through the break in the trees. I remember saying I wanted a place like that someday, a meadow to run through, raise kids, and breathe. It felt like daydreaming back then, nice but impossible.

At the time, our life in Battle Ground was simple and good. We had a freshly flipped house in town, a big yard, and the kind of freedom young couples think will last forever. But the town started to change. More traffic, more noise, more uncertainty. The police were on our road almost daily. A homeless man set up camp in his broke-down Subaru at the end of our driveway. Slowly, the peace that once felt so sure slipped through our fingers, and we knew it was time to face the harder questions, ones that require courage instead of convenience.

We started looking at property, knowing full well that wanting something and working for it are two very different things. On another drive, we chased a For Sale sign down a dead end road and found the farmhouse and acreage, meadow and all, that pulled at us. When that door closed, God cracked open another: a similar property in Ridgefield. We walked it once and felt a conviction that was hard to explain. The decision was not easy or tidy. It was a risk bigger than our bank account and our comfort level combined. The house was barely livable. The land was overgrown. Everything that would make this dream work required sweat, sacrifice, and more faith than we thought we had.

The bank did not want to touch it. But Brett and his friend ET rebuilt that house board by board. We scraped and stretched and prayed our way through every step. People showed up who believed in us. Solutions arrived right when they were needed and not a minute sooner. Looking back, I can see clearly that it was not luck. It was provision. God was stitching together something we were too close to fully understand at the time.

During the renovation months, the girls and I brooded chicks on the rental’s back porch, and once the house was ready, Brett rebuilt the chicken coop. We added goats, even though I was very pregnant and convinced we were out of our minds. (Turns out we were, but in the exact ways that shape character.) Then came our crash course in cattle through someone else’s herd on our fields. It was messy and complicated and taught us more about stewardship, boundaries, and wisdom than any tidy success story ever could.

I thought I was done with cows until the pandemic hit and grocery store shelves went bare. Suddenly, the idea of raising our own beef was not a romantic notion. It was a lifeline. Starting our herd was equal parts fear and determination, but it became one of the best decisions we have made. Now we not only feed our family but also serve our community with something delicious and nourishing. This year, we added pigs to the lineup, another new chapter in this long obedience of learning and doing.

And through it all, our kids have grown up right alongside the fences, the animals, and the endless list of projects. Their imaginations are wild and hilarious, and they are the reason we named our place Storyteller Farm. They find magic in the everyday, reminding us why the work is worth it.

Several times a week, Brett and I look around at the pasture, the home we rebuilt, the animals we care for, the life we have carved out of risk and resilience, and we are overwhelmed with gratitude. None of this came quick. None of it came easy. But God has been faithful, steady in the cracks where our own strength gave out.

And every now and then, when the light hits the grass just right and I feel that old tug of wonder, Brett will look at me with that half smile and say, “You have your meadow.”

And he is right. But more than that, we have a story shaped by work, sacrifice, grace, and a God who was already writing the ending long before we saw the first glimmer of it on that drive years ago.

This blog post was written in participation of a Blogging Bee-an online gathering reminiscent of the quilting bees and sewing bees of days past when women would bring their work together to create art. If you enjoyed this post about “Beginnings,” take a look at these posts from other farmers, small business owners, homesteaders, and creatives.

Don’t Compare Your Beginning to Someone Else’s Middle

https://carrieroer.com/dont-compare-your-beginning/

The Wonder of Hatching Chicks

https://megantemtewrites.wordpress.com/2022/07/06/the-wonder-of-hatching-chicks/

The Beginning

https://www.rudylaneflowerfarm.com/post/the-beginning