Y’all, there has been so much happening here on the farm that I am finally now getting some time to tell you about it — and there is much to tell. I am quickly realizing that nighttime on the farm is a good time to write. The sun goes down and the chickens are corralled and I smell vaguely (or maybe a lot) like chicken poo and I have some time to write. First of all, I have to introduce you to our newest and dearest friend, Jack. Jack came to us all the way from Australia and is here to help on the farm and grace us with the best Australian accent. I am learning all kinds of new phrases and most importantly, saying “bugger” a lot more which I greatly enjoy.

If I’m being really honest, this whole farm endeavor is really triggering my anxiety. I’m not agoraphobic — I have no problem leaving the house and in fact I enjoy leaving the house. I am not anxious in large crowds or at a county fair. I do not get anxious riding on a Ferris wheel but will if I stand on a very tall roof. My anxiety is mostly the result of not knowing how to spend my time. I have existential anxiety. My anxiety says, “You have free time right now. You never have free time. You better use it wisely. Do something productive because death is imminent.” My anxiety wants me to be productive and produce things. My anxiety wants me to finish projects.

The snakes are back. We knew it could be a possibility that they came back when the weather warmed up. It’s been 70 degrees here the past few days and guess who woke up out of their slumber? The den of rattlesnakes living underneath our porch. Sadly enough, (although I’m not that sad about it) I believe we killed and removed the snake parents this past fall when we moved in. We cut one of their heads off with a shovel (or more accurately I should say that the crew of men who have been helping us on our property used the shovel to behead one of the snakes) and the other snake parent, well someone drove him off to the forest while he was duct taped inside of a PVC pipe.

I got very overwhelmed last night. We currently have thirty laying hens growing bigger and bigger, living in a feeding trough on the room off of our kitchen. They are big enough now to fly out of the trough when we take the cover off and we spend a good portion of our morning corralling the bravest chicken back into the trough. (I have named this bold and brave chicken Yee-Haw). Luckily, Heathar’s dad built a cover for the chicken trough otherwise, they would be all over the room by now and chicken feces would be everywhere.

Today, we started a new Easter tradition — we put together our very first beehive. I identify as whatever comes before being a novice bee keeper. I am completely inexperienced and yet, our bees are arriving on Saturday. I think this is what Heathar and I like to do — we create a very imminent deadline that involves live animals and then run like wild dogs at the last minute to get everything prepared. It is very motivating. I think this is also what they call procrastination. But yes, we are creating our beehives.

I realize that I am completely out of my element right now. Wandering around Home Depot yesterday looking for six inch fan vents, complete with metal ductwork almost put me over the edge of abysmal panic. I watched other women, glazed and glass-eyed, pushing their empty carts through the looming aisles. The most tragic, is the one-item cart. There is one lonely pair of gardening gloves in the enormous Home Depot cart or one bag of birdseed. I know the one-item cart game. It feels so exposed, so vulnerable as though people know you have no idea what you’re actually looking for.