Rush hour at the farm starts around 6:30 a.m., the animals are all lined up at the gate waiting for us impatiently, if we dally, we will hear whinnying and braying, and loudly. The mist is often still on the pasture grass, the sun is breaking through the clouds, the blue is starting to appear in the sky.

This is our rush hour, the sweetness of the farm, of nature, of the bond between us and our animals. I believe this is how I was meant to live.