When the Chickens Are Gone and the Pastures Are Poppin’

In other words, May.

May is such a busy month around here, I half expect it to come with a soundtrack, some pyrotechnics, and a fog machine to announce each new to-do. It’s the kind of month that throws glitter in your face while yelling “SURPRISE!”… every single day.

Let me paint you a picture:

—> End-of-year awards ceremonies for American Heritage Girls, Trail Life, and our college girl (induction into Phi Theta Kappa/National Honors Society, a departmental award for Biology, Prez of her school's Biology Club, and basically killin' it academically and socially--yep, I still cry at these things like she’s five).

—> Two birthdays for our ranch kids, which means donuts for breakfast, sugar crashes by lunch, trying to figure out when to make that from-scratch cake and invite grandparents over, and the inevitable realization that I forgot to buy some ingredient or another again.

—> Spring pasture growth that goes from zero to jungle in approximately 3 days, which means we’re kicking rotations into high gear. Goats are basically sprinting from paddock to paddock, the cows are living their best salad bar life, and the egg layers are so excited with the new paddocks that they don't even know what to do with themselves. Although this year started off slightly differently, due to an unruly Longhorn who is now hangin' at the butcher shop down the road. But that's a story for another day.

—> And of course, wrapping up the final month of raising our meat chickens. The “final boss battle” of the spring season. Chickens processed? Check. Freezers full? Check. Me collapsing into a heap of exhaustion and existential reflection? Oh yes.

Because once those meat chickens are gone… there’s this lull. A moment. A deep, soul-sighing breath of stillness.

final processing day 2025

And I never know what to do with it.

It’s like May hits me with a freight train, and then June walks in, all cool and breezy like, “Hey girl, you wanna relax?” And I’m over here twitching because I haven’t sat still in 8 months and I forgot how!

Here’s the thing: life on the farm is seasonal. Quite literally. There are intense bursts of energy, work, chaos, growth, and movement. And then there are these sacred pauses where everything feels still. But it’s never truly still—not under the soil, not in the sky, and definitely not in my brain.

Leaning into these seasons is how we’ve managed to build this life—one that doesn’t just raise animals and babies, but restores the land and our souls. Our goats and cows graze in rotation, mimicking the wild herds that once moved freely across the plains. Their hooves disturb the soil just enough to wake it up, their manure feeds the microbes, and their munching encourages regrowth of native and introduced grasses, clovers, forbs, and all the green things that nourish the land and the animals who live on it.

The chickens? They're part of that magic too, moving either months ahead of, or days behind, the goats and cattle--depending on my schedule, soil needs, and chicken safety. Scratching, pecking, pooping (hey, we’re being honest here), and helping cycle nutrients in a way that builds topsoil instead of stripping it. It’s messy, beautiful, regenerative work. And it’s not confined to a calendar—it follows the rhythm of nature. God's Design. That's our goal, at least.

Which, conveniently (or chaotically), aligns pretty well with how we homeschool.

We don’t follow a traditional schedule because our life doesn’t allow for that kind of rigidity. We take breaks when the chicks or turkey poults arrive. Or when I truck 100 chickens out to East TX to get processed for me. We drop history when the weather is too perfect not to be outside. And we dive back into school full-force during the "quiet" seasons—like when it's too cold to live (so basically below 40 if it's cloudy and below 30 if it's sunny!). Most people take a break when it's over 100. That's when you'll have the hardest time pulling me back inside from working in the fields!

And now that the chickens are done, and the pastures are rotating like a finely tuned merry-go-round, I should be relaxing, right?

But no.

Now I’ve got 18 projects in various stages of “started but not finished.” From updating the website, to building or repairing various structures (new layer housing, new turkey housing, meat tractors need updates and repairs, shade shelter for cattle...for starters!), to playing around with recipes for the blog (I don't even like to cook--but I sure do like to eat!)—I’ve got options. So many options, in fact, that I stand in the kitchen staring into space like someone just asked me what my favorite color is and I forgot every word in the English language.

Analysis paralysis, farm-style.

Add in trying to keep homeschool on track after a spring full of spontaneous weather-fueled field trips and livestock emergencies, and I’m doing mental gymnastics daily. My planner is half empty, half scribbled, and entirely covered in chicken scratch (literal and metaphorical).

But you know what?

That’s part of the beauty of this life. It’s not about balance—it’s about rhythm. Some seasons you dance, some you run, some you collapse in a pile of feathers and fencing rope. And some? Some you pause, breathe, and figure out which of your 18 open loops is going to get the privilege of your attention today.

Because even when the chickens are gone… the possibilities are endless.

Now if I could just choose one...