The internet, we all know, is a highlight reel. It’s a carefully edited series of images and words chosen to convey what we want, when we want. Sure, there are people who air their dirty laundry or obliviously post gag-worthy food pics, but by and far, we curate what we present online.
And that’s o.k. Really, it is. Those perfectly composed images of sweet family life, they make us desire to sow the seeds of that kind of peace in our own homes. The mom who shares updates on her family’s progress in the 52 Hike Challenge inspires us to get out more with our own kids. The knitter who somehow completes a project a week feeds us with new ideas. The blogger whose new recipes never fail keeps us willing to try new things.
The downside, of course, comes when we only allow ourselves to believe that the soft focus beauty exists. That’s when the thief of joy—comparison—raises his ugly head and snatches away the contentment we have in our space, our life.
Recently, my husband and I have been dreaming of spring and summer here at Floating Axe Farm. I’ve been reading hundreds of ideas for cheap, DIY greenhouses, and crop covers that would give us a jump on the growing season. I’ve been leafing through the seed catalogs as they’ve come, considering varieties, and pondering options. And, of course, I’ve been looking at blogs. And oh… they’re lovely.
I’m currently reading Gene Logsdon’s Letter to a Young Farmer (affiliate link), and you’d think it would help me balance what I’m seeing, but somehow, it’s still a fight. All those gorgeous animal shelters, replete with flocks of wool sheep and dairy goats. The gardens, chock full of organically-grown vegetables that seem immune to cucumber beetles and wilt and weeds. We must be doing it wrong, because clearly, farming is nothing but sunshine (literally) and abundance for them.
And for us? Well… sometimes it rains.
Sometimes it rains a lot.
Sometimes the sky is a dirty grey and the trees are naked and the ground is slop.
Sometimes your 10 year-old farmhand is less than thrilled to do chores.
Sometimes you can’t free-range your hens because it’s a two-day deluge and, oh yes, they’ve churned the mulch beneath their feet to a wet stew that they’re flapping and fluttering everywhere.
Sometimes the back of the orchard field has become a pond, and is threatening lake status. But your dog suddenly decides that after all those years rejecting his water-loving instinct, he’s going to just give in and go wading.
Sometimes you have to move rabbit cages in the downpour because they’re in danger of becoming arks.
Sometimes the creek does, indeed, rise.
It’s not the highlight reel, but it is the highlight real. Life is every bit as wet and boggy is it is warm and sunny. The soundtrack some mornings is your children’s laughter, and other times it’s the soft squish of your boots sinking into mud. Being content with the downpour, or the building phase, or the wading through new until it feels right it just as important as basking in the ideal seconds of completion.
Love where God has placed you today, friends. Enjoy the breath He has given you. And rest assured that the rest of us are out here staying as dry as we can when the rain pours down, as well, and looking forward to the warmth of the sun and the tidier days, too.