Last week three bottle babies and I took Shark Week the Desi dog, to the Canadian border. You may recall that, despite a promising start at The Farmstead, I finally admitted to myself that Shark Week would most likely never outgrow his murderous urges and, in all fairness to him, really wanted to be someone’s pet and not a working dog. Shark Week was always great with the humans in our family, especially Gizmo, .
On the scale of bad weeks to good weeks, this week could rank as pretty rotten. In the past seven days I have lost three baby goats and two baby pigs. Peyote got the bad news that she had to have her leg amputated and the floor of my dairy is proving to be a money pit. I was also the proud recipient of not one, but two flat tires, all in the span .
You know that feeling in your gut, the one that tells you you’re royally screwing something up. I’ve had it for the past 6 months. I know a large part of it is fear. Investing you and your husband’s savings into an enterprise that neither one of you has a background in is a scary thing. On top of that, only one of you lists this enterprise as their “dream.” The other one of .
I wish I was posting with great news of our creamery completion. The goal was always to be licensed by March. Unfortunately, February did not have a sense of humor. We hit a string of bad luck mainly personified in the shit floor job we received from a contractor. (Yes, I thought about not swearing here as I’m personally working on cleaning up my own mouth with Gizmo starting to talk…but, there’s just no .