I was supposed to be a city girl.
Instead, I live on a “farm” with chickens, goats, six dogs, two Maine Coons, a new puppy who has no respect for personal space, and three kids who somehow became adults while I wasn’t looking.
This blog was originally going to be about how spectacularly I fail at farm life – how someone with zero agricultural instincts ended up surrounded by animals, mud, and constant to-do lists. Not to mention fell in love with mowing the lawn on a zero-turn. And yes, there’s still plenty of that here.
But life had other plans.
On January 1st 2026, after a four-year battle with cancer, I lost my husband. He was 53. I wasn’t ready. None of us were. Suddenly, I was navigating grief, single-ish parenting (I’m stepmom to two of my kids), a demanding career, and a life that didn’t pause just because my heart broke.
So, this blog became something more honest.
Failing as a Farm Girl is about the everyday silliness of my life-misadventures with animals, parenting moments that don’t come with a manual, and the chaos of trying to keep everything running. But it’s also about grief. About missing the person who was supposed to grow old with me. About figuring out who I am now, not even 50, while still showing up for my kids: Greg (26), Parker (20), and Mazzey (14).
Some days are funny. Some days are heavy. Most days are both.
I don’t have answers. I do have stories. And if you’re here because you’re juggling too much, laughing through tears, or just trying to keep your head above water – welcome. You’re not alone.