Small Mercies

. . . and mullets, farm life, and being okay with saying something is hard

Each time we finish a busy season, I think, “That wasn’t so bad!” Much like childbirth, a sort of fog washes over me, helping me forget the painful parts and my struggles. I tell myself, “I’m going to remember this for the next busy season! I know I’ll make it through—because I did last time!” 

In reality, the last few weeks were hard and lonely—although I was never alone. I delivered many meals to the field and proudly handed off homemade dinners to the crew. It makes me feel good to contribute in a small way. 

But there were also sibling squabbles in the ‘witching hours’ after school; I juggled bedtime by myself, filled out forms, and bought special snacks for Allie when she was the “helper of the day.” I made sure the kids were dressed for a “beach day” school musical performance. Many nights, the kids and I ate dinner alone. I took Rhett to a haircut after school, where he finally agreed he was done growing a mullet. (I take pride that I didn’t choose to die on this hill. I let him grow his hair for months, even though it wasn’t my choice. And then, he willingly got it cut, saying, “I don’t want a mullet anymore.”)

Small mercies.

There were many times I wanted to text Rich to complain. But when he’s working such long hours, it doesn’t feel right to dump it all on him—when I know he’s carrying so much too. Even after all these years, I struggle to balance what to unload on him and what I expect myself to carry alone. 

I intentionally spent all of last week off of social media. My feed was full of posts about spring farming and the excitement of planting season. Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing women in agriculture in their different roles, and I believe a positive mindset can do wonders for loving your life. At the same time, it can make me feel like I’m doing something wrong.

Are these seasons only hard for me? 

I try to find a good balance between sharing the hard and beautiful parts of rural life on social media. And when I share my struggles, I want to do so without it feeling like I’m just complaining and whining. Rural life is also having a “moment” on Instagram; from homesteading and chickens, it’s often painted with rose-colored glasses.

Most days, this life is hard and beautiful—at the same time. It’s both/and.

Despite what I see when I scroll, I believe there are women like me who struggle, and I wonder if they feel alone, too, because no one is saying it. 

On my hardest day last week, a fellow farmer’s wife texted me out of the blue. She isn’t someone I text daily or even weekly. But her short text made me feel less alone.

“Are you doing okay? It’s been a long week.” 

My shoulders sagged in relief. I’m not the only one feeling this way. I texted her back, answering honestly. “No. I’m having a hard time. I blew it with my kids last night. I cried this morning. How are you?”

We chatted for a bit, and it felt like a weight was lifted. Her words came at the right time. 

Small mercies. 

Certain seasons of farming, motherhood, and marriage are difficult. But admitting it’s hard doesn’t mean everything is awful. 

It’s okay to be excited about the beginning of a new season. And relieved when it’s over.

It’s okay to admit I struggle during certain seasons. And still love my life. 

Life is full of both/and. 

And sometimes, it’s the smallest mercies, like a random text—that feel the biggest.

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