Brooder Prep, Goat Detours, and the Myth of “Being Ready”
It was one of those days where the list was clear: Get the brooder ready.
That’s all I had planned. Just one item. Simple enough.
But around here, the land, the animals, and the wind always seem to have their own agendas. And as any homesteader knows, the minute you think, This’ll be a quick job, you’ve just issued a challenge to the universe.
Still—I got it done.
Just not quite how I pictured it.
Morning: Warmth, Wiring, and Chick Prep
The sun rose strong, warm on my back as I carried the stock tank from the shed to the barn—this year’s brooder of choice. It’s an old galvanized tub, dented but deep, with enough space for 25 chicks and just enough height to keep the flappiest ones contained (for a while, at least).
I scrubbed it out with vinegar and hot water, wiped it down, and let it sit in the sun to dry. While it dried, I double-checked my heat lamp setup, clipped it securely to the crossbar above, and tested the bulb. (It worked. For once, I didn’t have to run to town for a replacement. A miracle.)
Then came the rest:
- Layer of fine pine shavings
- Chick feeder, scrubbed and filled with starter
- Low-profile waterer, topped off and placed on bricks to reduce shavings in the basin
- Thermometer taped to the inside wall, eye-level for chick-height warmth readings
By the time I was done, the brooder looked like a tiny kingdom, waiting for its feathered royals to arrive.
They should be here in the next day or two.
Midday: Goat-Led Interruption
Of course, no peaceful workday goes uninterrupted when you have goats. Around noon, I heard a suspicious clanging. That’s never a good sign.
I walked out to find Maple and Rosemary halfway through the garden gate—literally. The latch, weakened by last week’s wind, had given way, and the pair of them were gorging themselves on spinach and radish tops like they’d been invited to a buffet.
Rosemary had two leaves stuck to her lip and zero shame.
I chased them out, mended the gate with baling twine (again), and gave them a scoop of hay in their own pen to redirect their enthusiasm.
It wasn’t in the plan. But neither is most of this life. And if I’m being honest, I kind of admire their nerve. Boldness like that usually gets punished around here… but sometimes it earns you a radish top or two.
Afternoon: Herb Garden Planning and A Moment of Stillness
Once the goat drama settled and the chicks’ palace was complete, I turned my attention to the front garden beds—specifically the herb bed, which has been calling to me since the snow melted.
This year, I’m trying to keep things tidy but abundant. I sketched a layout in my notebook while sitting in the shade of the porch:
- Front row: chamomile, creeping thyme, lemon balm
- Middle row: sage, oregano, parsley
- Back row: rosemary, lavender, echinacea
- Corners: basil tucked in once the temps stay above 50 overnight
I also want to try holy basil (tulsi) this year—part for tea, part because it just feels like a comforting plant to have near.
I could’ve sat out there sketching plant dreams all afternoon, but the sun was dipping low, and there were tools to put away and goats to double-check.
Still, I lingered a few extra minutes. There’s something deeply grounding about planning future growth while sitting with your current mess. It makes you feel both small and strong—like a seed waiting to wake up.
Supper and the Question of “Readiness”
Tonight’s dinner was simple:
- Eggs scrambled with goat cheese and chives
- A hunk of bread still warm from yesterday’s bake
- Dandelion greens sautéed in butter with garlic
I ate slow, watching the golden light stretch across the pasture, and found myself thinking: Am I ready for these chicks? For piglets? For all that comes next?
And the truth is—probably not.
Not fully. Not perfectly.
But that’s never stopped me before. Because “ready” is a myth in this life. If I waited until I had the right tools, the exact knowledge, or the perfect setup, I’d never have started at all.
Readiness doesn’t come before the doing. It comes through it.
You become ready by showing up anyway. With your half-fixed gate, your dented stock tank, your tangled fencing, your doubts and your courage all mixed together.
That’s the real work. The sacred work.
Final Thoughts
Today was full. Not with big events, but with little ones that added up to a day worth remembering.
I finished the brooder. I wrestled goats. I mended a gate. I dreamed of herbs and settled into the idea that “done” is often good enough—especially when you’re balancing building, feeding, protecting, and believing, all at once.
Tomorrow, if the post office calls, I’ll drive into town and pick up my box of tiny peeping miracles. Twenty-five broiler chicks, full of potential and promise, smelling like shavings and beginnings.
And whether I feel “ready” or not… I will be.
Until tomorrow—
Amanda @ Wister Creek