Finding Myself at Broken Picker Farm

Truth be told, I never allowed myself to see me as a farmer.

I didn’t grow up on a farm. I remember when my parents moved onto theirs—they were figuring it out as they went. My mom had some roots in farm life, but still, it was new for all of us. I can still picture the first time we butchered chickens. I was completely grossed out… but I stayed and helped, pulling feathers one by one.

Looking back now, I realize something—I never allowed myself to like it.

I had created this identity, this “city girl” persona that I thought people expected from me. And because of that, I didn’t let myself dream of land, animals, or this kind of life. It felt out of reach anyway. So I stayed grateful for what I had—a quarter acre and a quiet acceptance that maybe that was all.

But God was planting seeds in me long before I ever noticed.

When I was eight years old, I lost my grandma to breast cancer. She made a lasting impact on my life, even in the short time I had with her. Because of her, I became more aware of what we put in and on our bodies. As I got older, that awareness grew into action. I started paying attention to food—how it’s made, where it comes from.

I began making sourdough. Cooking from scratch. Choosing meat I knew the source of. Even making things like ketchup at home—you know the drill.

Meanwhile, Casey started talking about bees.

And I laughed.

Because how? How would that ever be our life?

Still, quietly, I started dreaming. Not boldly, not out loud—but deep in my heart, I began to imagine what it would be like to have land.

Then one day, Casey told me about a dream he had—of us living on farmland, in an old farmhouse. He said God told him we would have it one day.

And again, I laughed.

“How?”

But life has a way of changing both slowly… and all at once.

We began talking about moving. Then Casey got hurt, and everything felt like it paused. But even in that pause, God was working. Doors began to open, and we chose to walk through them in faith.

Looking back now, I can see it so clearly—God was preparing me all along.

And when the time came… He delivered in ways I could have never imagined.

On this farm, I found parts of myself I didn’t even know existed.

I got close to cows—closer than I ever dreamed. I’ve bottle-fed them, milked them, sung to them. I talk to them… and to God… in the quiet moments. And somehow, they bless me just as much as I care for them.

We got chickens—so many chickens—and each one with its own personality. Goats came next. I’ve experienced the joy of new life being born here… and the heartbreak of loss, miscarriages, and sickness too.

We’ve had pigs that would run up for belly scratches and “talk” the moment I stepped outside. Rabbits, for a season. Ducks. Gardens bigger than I ever thought I could manage.

And somewhere in all of it… I changed.

I found myself wanting to get dirty. Wanting to be outside. Wanting more of this life—and loving it in a way that’s hard to put into words.

I’ve learned that spiders aren’t the enemy. That hornworms make great chicken feed. That life doesn’t have to be taken so seriously all the time.

Most of all, I’ve learned this:

We only get one life.

And I want to live mine with grace, passion, and love.

I want to live it authentically—as the woman God created me to be.

And I found her… right here on this farm.