Powered By Eat From Farms
February 7, 2026
We made it through the storm!
Barely ten days ago, the thermometer dropped to –4°. We shut the well (that waters the animals) off to prevent freezing pipes. The ground turned to iron. Wind cut through every crack and seam. And like always, we did what ranchers do—we prepared, we watched, we adjusted, and we prayed.
And by the grace of God, we came through with minimal loss, even with more babies on the ground than ever before.
But minimal loss is not the same as no loss.
One little goat kid was shoved out of the shelter and ended up down on the frozen ground. We had a section in both shelters where babies could get to, under a heat lamp, without getting smothered by the bigger goats. And yet, this one kid managed to get jostled up to the front "door" of the shelter, and was shoved out, injuring one of her legs a bit.
A downed goat is a dead goat—unless you can reverse the damage fast enough.
We tried.
For two days we warmed her by the fire.
We pushed electrolytes.
We got her on her feet.
We got her back to her mama to nurse.
But sometimes the damage is already done.
She died in my arms.
She’s not the first goat I’ve held as life slipped away. And I know she won’t be the last. But it flat-out pisses me off every single time. This life is not easy. It is not gentle. And it is not for the faint of heart. But it's worth it. Most of the time.....
Still—she did not die cold, alone, or afraid. She died by the fire, surrounded by love. And that matters.
Other than that one loss, everyone else pulled through.
Goats. Lambs. Guardian pups. Cattle. Even with record babies on the ground, they endured the cold, the ice, the wind, and the wet.
And that feels like a victory worth pausing to acknowledge.
We weren’t the only ones hit.
The hatchery we rely on for our meat birds was devastated by the extreme temperatures. Thousands of chicks were lost before they ever hatched due to brooder failure.
That ripple reaches far beyond their farm—it will hit ours too. Our upcoming CSA season just took a serious dent.
Truthfully, I had already been considering adjusting how and when we do things. This storm may have just moved that decision to the very top of next year’s priority list.
Sometimes disruption is destruction. Sometimes it’s direction.
We’ll see which this becomes.
I hate the cold.
I refused to leave the house except to make sure the layers had food and water. Everything else fell to my kids—who didn’t mind being outside—or my husband, who had to walk past the animals anyway on his way to his office. And let’s be clear: I did not ask anything extra of that man. He works hard enough already!
The layers, meanwhile, took the week off completely.
We don’t force production. No artificial light. No heat lamps to push laying. Chickens rest in winter and summer—and we let them. But they always have food, water, dryness, and protection from drafts.
That part never changes. Not that I have anything against using heat lamps or extra light. But, sometimes we just don't have enough electrical outlets to plug in MORE extension cords! We had heat lamps in with the puppies, heat lamps in each goat/sheep shelter, a heat lamp in the well house, and several heat lamps in our own brooder (where we have a few chickens that my son Noah hatched out--not old enough to handle the full brunt of the weather yet, but they are fully feathered). Frankly, we just couldn't plug in one more heat lamp!! Next year, my goal is to have nothing in our brooder, and no puppies! My goal is to also have an actual barn built, with water in the middle, so that we can just rotate around the waterer all winter long. Shelter when needed, fresh air when desired, water that never freezes, and a well we don't have to turn off!
Since I was trapped inside for over a week, I baked. A lot.
Overnight sandwich bread
The softest hamburger buns I’ve ever made (and of course, I didn’t write down what I did differently)
Homemade fettuccine… for about two people’s worth, instead of the 7 we have in our family....
Pasta sauce from last summer’s frozen tomatoes
It is deeply satisfying being able to feed my family from what I grew, stored, and made myself.
Even in the middle of a storm.
Then the kids got sick.
Ice kept me home, and indoors, whether I liked it or not. And then, I was trapped indoors with 3 sick kids. Who are still young enough to whine and cry when they're sick. They were so sad, y'all..... So I turned to my growing stack of “how to do everything yourself” books and made:
A cold-and-flu fighter syrup with honey, cinnamon, black pepper, turmeric, and I forget what else
A cough syrup with honey, whiskey, lavender, peppermint, and cardamom
I know my kids are really sick when they willingly take homemade medicine—even the gritty peppery one.
Necessity really is the mother of invention.
Cold alone isn’t our biggest threat.
Here, storms begin with rain. Then temperatures plunge. Rain becomes ice. Then sleet. Then freezing rain. Maybe snow.
Ice melts.
Then refreezes.
Then melts again.
Then refreezes again.
Driveways and side streets become skating rinks. You can’t leave even if you want to.
Eventually I got stir crazy—and one of our indoor dogs needed the vet anyway. The only way out was putting the truck into four-wheel drive just to escape our own driveway and neighborhood.
Main roads were fine.
Everything else? Not fine. At all.
Today—barely ten days later—it hit 81°.
Sun out. Ice gone. Snow melted. Air warm. Ground thawed.
Praise the Lord, y'all!
Winter isn’t over—it is February, after all—but I am deeply grateful for this spring-like breath of warmth. I will take every bit of it.
Every storm teaches something:
Stewardship matters.
Preparation matters.
Community matters.
Resilience matters.
Faith matters most.
We do what we can.
We learn from what we couldn’t control.
We adjust.
We move forward.
And we thank God for every life preserved, every lesson learned, and every warm day that follows a hard storm.