How are you today?
I spent much of the weekend walking and fixing fence-lines damaged from last week’s high winds. I like this work. It’s good to be outside and connects me to the physical world with so many real senses—the sound of blackbirds singing, the tickle of my hair swirling around my face in the wind, and the colorful canvas of natural tones and blue skies intermixed with earthy smells. Spring.
Preparing to move our cows & sheep to fresh pasture in the spring is a bit like setting up a new canvas—fresh, clean, full of possibility.
On the surface, winter is the hardest season here on the farm. The harsh cold and weary waiting is painful. But spring? That might be the truest challenge and temptation for a farmer with ruminants.
All around us right now is a sea of green—vibrant blades of grass & legumes stretching up, buds swelling, as if the very ground whispers, “Come on… we’re ready.” It’s easy to feel restless. The cattle certainly do. They line the fence calling after me, begging to be let into the green but short fields.
But the truth is: the grass isn’t quite tall enough yet.
For the health of our land and our animals, I’ve learned to wait until the grass is around 14 inches tall before opening the gates. And let me tell you—it’s HARD. I’m surrounded by beauty, and still have to hold back. But each day we wait now will mean weeks of flourishing later. The pastures will thrive. The cows will have abundance. The land will rest and renew in the awesome way God designed it to.
That kind of waiting reminds me of this passage:
“Be patient, then, brothers and sisters, until the Lord’s coming. See how the farmer waits for the land to yield its valuable crop, patiently waiting for the autumn and spring rains. You too, be patient and stand firm, because the Lord’s coming is near.” — James 5:7-8 (NIV)
James wasn’t talking about farming—he was pointing us to something far greater: Christ’s return. Still, I find comfort that God used a farmer in this picture. He understands our work. And He calls us to the same quiet perseverance and trust—both in the field and in faith.
As we prepare to open the pasture later this week, I feel giddy. Watching those big-framed cows jump and frolic like calves in new grass is something truly special. It’s the reward of patient stewardship. It’s a moment of joy God builds right into the work.
So today, I’m reminding myself—and maybe you too—that waiting is not wasted. Holding back is not the same as doing nothing. Sometimes, our deepest faith is expressed not in movement, but in stillness. Not in grasping, but in trusting.
The canvas of spring is bursting forth with color. And I can’t wait to see what this new masterpiece of the Father brings.
With hope and gratitude,
Leah
Your farmer
An eco-friendly canvas (aka cardboard) and another painting in progress, much like the pastures on our farm, by Natalie. As a little kid on my grandpa’s dairy farm, barn swallows terrified me. I remember them swooping down at me, chasing me away from some hidden nest they felt I was too close to. But now, I enjoy these birds. They keep the insects down, and our swallows seem to be a friendlier line—they don’t swoop at me like I remember the ones from all those years ago (though the cats and dogs are fair game!).
