Community Will Get Us Through

Keep Seeking the Light

Lately, I’ve really been searching for light.

Cows know how to find light and community. Photo by Iga Palacz on Unsplash

Ever since I started This Little Farm Life, my monthly posts would write themselves. My pleasure in our little homestead in the woods, and in communing with nature, was easy to share. Focusing on uplifting topics isn’t just a choice, it’s how I live.

Always having loads to write about, I only had to wait until the words started singing in my mind and pretty soon the next post would be born.

But lately, the words have been silenced. This is much later than my usual monthly post; it’s been a struggle to maintain my positive outlook. To go about my daily life with my usual energy and good humor when the sorrow and outrage in my heart feels overwhelming.

And yet—I have to try. In her recent post, Holding Light, Anyway, novelist Barbara O’Neal writes eloquently that “I can be serene in this moment—not ignoring the world, but living in it as a force for peace.”

I also take to heart what others have advised: Don’t let them steal your joy.”

To hold on to mine, I’m seeking in-person community wherever I can.

In the last couple of weeks, it’s been a cozy, inspiring visit with our like-minded neighbors. I found delight in a phone call with an extraordinarily wise, long-time friend. Not long after that, my husband John and I had a rare lunch here in the boonies with two of our favorite kindred spirits

I’ve also had the pleasure in getting acquainted with a someone living a couple of miles down the main road, an affable older guy and fellow cyclist. I’d seen him a few times before, and in the way of cyclists passing each other on a country road, we always exchanged a wave.

But a few days ago, we both stopped at his mailbox, introduced ourselves and had a proper chat. He’s not only a gardener too, but a professional landscape gardener, focusing on Japanese gardens—John’s favorite aesthetic. Coincidence?

We’d only just met, but he invited John and me to come over and see their garden. That’s community, country-style.

Despite everything going on in the world, all of these friends and neighbors are being a force for good, and sharing their hope for the future.

Community in Unexpected Places

My sister, the “horse girl” I’ve mentioned in a previous post, Of Owl and Empaths, keeps her two horses at an urban farm in the middle of the city. The last year or so, the property owners have added six cows to the place, beef cattle, and my sister has added the cows to her circle of animal love.

I’ve been telling her about “my cows,” the neighborhood herd I see every day on my bikeride, which regular readers know I’ve developed a great fondness for. With many calves in the herd, it’s “Farm TV” at its finest.

Naturally, when my sister and I get together these days, we talk about cows. Last time, she shared that one of “her” cows had developed bovine pneumonia.

Sadly, the animal didn’t make it. When the sad time came to carry off the body, the other five cows came over and stood nearby, as if they were holding a wake.

Or perhaps, having a show of solidarity.

I told her about the “cow childcare” within the herd I watch. I’ll see the herd of cows and heifers, spread out in the pasture, but a cluster of calves hanging out together, and there will be one or two Mamas who stay close to the calves. Babysitting!

As my sister and I agreed during out cow chat, they’re much smarter than we can imagine. Personally, I believe cows are not just herd animals. Like a flock of chickens, they instinctively know how to be a community.

A few days ago, on my bikeride, I had a moment with “my” cows. Several of the older calves and one very large Mama had left the grazing/feeding area under the tall firs, and clambered up a fairly steep slope to hang out next to the road.

I have no idea why the cows wandered all that way; the grass by the road was scrubby, winter stuff, not like the ample hay the farmer or his teenage son lays out every day. Maybe they wanted a change of scene, or were drawn to the sunny spot.

Instead of passing the with my usual call out, “Hello friends,” I stopped and talked to them.

The calves immediately came closer, Mama close by, nearly to the barbed wire fence separating us, and looked at me curiously.

The mama cow, though, didn’t seem at all curious; she stood right at the fence, eying me as if to say, “Don’t you be thinking about coming closer.”

Interestingly, more youngsters came up the slope, including a couple of little ones, and up lumbers another Mama. Babysitting backup!

I stood and simply watched them for another five or so minutes. But since I didn’t want the Mamas to get too nervous, I remounted my bike, and riding a wave of joy, coasted down the road.

Here I am in our woods, in the exquisite mid-summer light

I gained a lesson simply writing all this—I feel a little lighter. Amid the injustice and darkness that worsen by the day, I’m comforted by time outdoors, enjoying nature.

And I’m always uplifted by the essays of like-minded Substackers like Barbara O’Neal, Sue Sutherland-Wood at Everyone Else is Taken, and Prue Batten at Knots in the String.

Their wise words keep me reaching for solidarity, and for light and hope.

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Thank you so much for being here, I appreciate each and every one of you, and love to hear from you. And a “Like” ❤️ always means so much to me…

Warmest thoughts to you, always,

~Susan, from the Foothills