Not that long ago, the song “Let It Go” was everywhere. I only watched the movie Frozen once in a state of half-sleep on a plane to or from France on Bryon’s and my honeymoon in 2014. But of course, that song was hard to escape for years afterwords. To this day, I sometimes find myself singing it in situations such as one of the dogs grabbing onto something or someone they shouldn’t.

These past few months, I’ve been wishing I really could let it go. Earlier this summer, I found out my father, who lives across the country, was in the midst of a horrible situation. Despite our estranged relationship, I started doing everything I could to help him. Now here it is almost Christmas, and I’m not sure that I’ve even made that much progress. Instead, I am stressing about many people not returning my many phone calls, not being able to pay his bills, and what happens next. The mess is mostly out of my control, and I know I’ve done the best I can. And yet, I feel trapped in this cycle of things going wrong.

Sometimes it’s like that on the farm. KiKi, our cat, lives mainly outdoors. We let her sleep inside on rainy nights, cold nights, or when she’s really insistent. But she has been known to get into tussles with local strays. Recently a minor wound, that might have originated in a fight, worsened. Even after her vet visit where she got antibiotics and a sign off that she’s okay, I’ve been trying to force her to stay inside more often, to give her time to heal. But she’s a cat, and if you’ve ever had one, you know they do what they please.

It’s been a similar situation with our Muscovy ducks. A couple months ago, they realized how glorious it is to swim in the pond and our seasonal lake in the south pasture. Before that, we put them to bed every night in their run to keep them safe from predators. Now that they’ve enjoyed the taste of freedom…some simply refuse to return to the bird yard, and others just wait until we leave to fly back out. So they spend the night on the water, come back in the morning for breakfast, and head back out again. We lost one to a coyote. We could lose more. Clipping their wings is an option, so they can’t fly out of their runs at night. But it also makes them more vulnerable if they were to face a hawk, eagle or other predator. So I have to let go of the worry and trust their survival instincts.

For most of my life, I’ve struggled with depression, and anxiety reared its ugly head in my later years. Our time at Star & Sparrow has made things better in some ways—the peaceful setting and simpler lifestyle, an increased appreciation for animals, and deeper connections to the land…and harder at times—the financial adjustments, the unending rain and gloom, the inevitable disappointment and loss. Some days just looking at the weedy paths or piles of planting supplies I should have put away make me want to run shrieking into the woods. 

But I’m trying to remind myself that we don’t always have control. Whether it’s the weather or nature in general, or relying on other people to help me navigate social services, it feels I am only one person fighting the system. Except I’m not. I have a wonderful husband, mom, stepdad, brother, other family, and friends offering encouragement, help, shoulders to cry on, junk food. I started seeing a therapist and am hopeful about learning new tactics to deal with the overwhelming nature of life. In the meantime, I’ll just keep doing the best I can.