The Unexpected First Blog

I never thought I’d start a blog — let alone one about living on a farm. Then again, neither was falling for a farmer, raising a toddler surrounded by tractors, or learning the difference between silage and slurry…

But here I am. Writing about a life I never saw coming — a life that’s challenged me, softened me, and changed me in ways I didn’t expect.

I’m not doing this for likes. I’m doing it for me. To make sense of the shifts.

If someone else finds comfort in these words, great. But if this reaches no one at all, that’s okay too.

Because this is for the girl who traded pavements for pasture, routine for unpredictability, and who still doesn’t know which field is which. But mainly for the new version of me that shows up anyway, long nails and all.

Pavement to Pasture

In my old life, the weather was just... the weather.
It didn’t decide our meals, our moods, or whether I’d be spending another evening alone.

Making plans were simple. You made them, and they happened.
Coffee shops weren’t a luxury, it was part of my daily routine.
I used to walk everywhere on pavements — clean, flat, reliable pavements.
And no one, NO ONE, I knew had to plan their week around rainfall or field conditions.

Townie life is clean, quick, and convenient. And while I knew there was a “countryside,” it might as well have been Narnia for how little I actually understood it.

But now I live a life where the phrase “I’ll be home soon” means anywhere between 30 minutes and tomorrow.

Truthfully? I’ve felt lost at times.
I wasn’t raised on a farm. I don’t know what I’m meant to do, or say, or be — especially when everything feels unfamiliar.

I’ve asked questions I now realise sound ridiculous. I’ve felt embarrassed for not knowing.
I’ve cried after long days when it felt like I was managing everything on my own while he was out doing something I couldn’t see or understand.

And then I’ve felt guilty for crying, because I chose this.

I love James, and our life we have built together.
But love doesn’t cancel out how hard the adjustment can be.
And I’ve stopped pretending it’s not hard sometimes.

Redefining ‘Farm Wife’

There’s a version of “supportive farm wife” that people seem to expect — the one who’s outdoorsy, practical, boots-on, in the thick of it.
That’s not me.

I love long nails and a heated blanket.
I don’t like mud. I don’t find tractors fascinating. I like knowing what the plan is, and I love when the plan doesn’t change.
And I used to think all of that made me a bit useless in this life.

But I’m slowly learning that support looks different for everyone.

Sometimes support is putting dinner in the oven, even though I don’t know if he’ll make it home to eat it.
It’s not taking it personally when he’s exhausted and quiet.
And it’s just being here for him — consistent and calm, even when everything else feels uncertain.

But support Isn’t One-Sided — It’s Just... Seasonal

Yes, I do more on my own some weeks. But this life isn’t just me waiting and him disappearing into a field.
He shows up for me, too.

He’ll come home with diet coke because he noticed I was running low. If you know me, you know that's the quickest way to my heart. 
He’ll want to make our tea, even after a 14 hour shift, so I can 'sit and look pretty'. 
He tells me I’m doing a good job, even on the days I feel like I’m barely holding it together.

He reminds me that I’m not alone in this. He makes space for the parts of me that aren’t like him and has never once tries to change them.

This life — our life — isn’t always balanced.
But we’ve both learned how to meet each other in the middle. 

Yes, I Still Miss…

Making weekend plans without checking five weather apps.
Shops you can walk to.
Streetlights.
Coffee that isn't instant
Decent takeaway options. And Deliveroo. Dear Lord, I miss Deliveroo.
And just… ease. That townie ease where nothing smells like manure and everything runs on schedule.

And you know what? That’s okay.

I can love James, love this life we’re growing — and still miss where I came from.
Missing what was doesn’t make me ungrateful. It just makes me human.

Things I’ve grown to love, unexpectedly…

Despite all the challenges and surprises, this new life has given me things I never expected.

Like having a front-row seat to someone who genuinely loves what they do. Not for show, not for success but because it’s in their blood. There’s something very grounding in watching someone pour their whole heart into work that most people never even see.

There’s also a stillness here I never knew I needed. It doesn’t come often — and it certainly doesn’t come scheduled — but when it does, it’s enough to make me stop. I never did that before.

Woody probably already knows more about tractors than I ever will and now I see it as a gift — a new world opening up for him. A lifestyle every little boy dreams of. 

And maybe most surprisingly of all, I’ve learned that time doesn’t have to be long to be meaningful. We don’t get hours together every day — especially during busy periods. But I’ve stopped counting quantity. I’ve started paying attention to quality.

A quick catch-up in the kitchen.
A cup of tea, made without asking.
Five quiet minutes on the sofa before the next job calls.
A debrief of our day in bed.

It turns out, those little things? They hold more weight than I ever realised. They're our glue.

But... still a townie

I still flinch at spiders. (Seriously, why does no one talk about the spiders?)

I still don’t know the names of the fields.

I still get annoyed when the weather is “too nice” — because now, that means more work and less James.

I still crave a pistachio latte and wear my Doc Martens with most outfits.

But I’m learning. Not how to be a farmer — that’s not the goal. But how to build something solid and meaningful in a life I never pictured for myself.

This is a space is for all

This space — The Unexpected Harvest Widow — started as something just for me. A place to untangle the thoughts that don’t have anywhere else to go. To write through the parts that are hard to say out loud.
And honestly? It’s cheaper than therapy.

But the more I wrote, the more I realised… maybe I’m not the only one?

Maybe there are other people who also didn’t grow up in this world, but found themselves building a life inside it anyway. People who feel a little out of place, but are still showing up. People who love someone rooted in land, tradition, and hours that rarely make room for plans.

And yes, this is also a space for people who know me, or at least 'the townie me' who are now looking at my life and thinking:
“Wait… how is this her life?”