Last night, 11pm. I was cozy in bed when all the sudden I felt something on my head. “BUG!” my instinct screamed.

Turns out nothing brings a farming community together like the mysterious death of a calf.

Wendy has been busy making pumpkin purée from the slew of potimarrons we harvested after the first hard frost of the season.

There's a walk-in pantry in the kitchen that Wendy and I have wanted to clean and organize for the past three years. It was a simple...

One parent. One five-year-old. Ten hours in the car to bring home six calves. What could go wrong?

I had never used the words "vent" and "prolapse" together before last week. (Warning: Graphic photos!)

On Tuesday I strapped on my bike helmet and peddled less than half a mile to Patrick's farm to buy milk.

I sat on the porch, a child on each side, a duckling in my lap, and tears. "Say goodbye to Shelly," I said.

I didn't mean to, but I did, as a result of two bad decisions.

I traveled to the Loire-Atlantique department of France this week to pick up the latest additions to our farm: four little calves.

I did some research and learned how to safely compost meat, dairy, and dog poop. The project was incredibly simple.

Wendy likes to knit and I have long aspired to get her the woolen gift that keeps on giving: sheep.

We were not a very happy homestead this morning. Wendy returned from her daily walk and reported that she didn't see our female goose.

"It's not your dog?" I responded. The large spaniel was trotting beside him on the road, like a well-trained companion.

I decided to remove the concrete troughs from our old barn. I don't know when they were installed but they sure are in the way.

I figure it's worth a few hours of manual labor to transform a bunch of bulky trash into two wheelbarrows' worth of decent firewood.

This winter our compost bin began doubling as a rat restaurant and motel. So I rodent-proofed it yesterday with rabbit wire.

'Twas the night after Christmas when a car pulled up. Its arrival was unsettling and surprisingly abrupt.

These stockings have traveled thousands of miles, hiked in more than 40 parks, and played with my children in dozens of campsites.

There were two silos and related metal pipes. Over the past two years, I often wondered how the heck we were going to remove that stuff.