Coming Home to Dixie

Our first sheep have arrived!

Dale and Ernie came bouncing into our lives just yesterday, delivered by the kindest family from Tiny Cow Farm in Etta, Mississippi. Their kindness and attentiveness made all the difference, making sure we had everything we needed to welcome the little lambs home. As they unloaded them into their pen, I felt that flutter of excitement that comes with a dream slowly coming true.

Later that evening, after everyone had gone inside, I sat quietly in the pen. The evening air was soft, and the world felt still around me. Dale, the bigger and braver of the two, cautiously approached and gently touched my arm with his nose. Little Ernie stayed close behind, always near his brother, but curious enough to inch forward. I sat motionless, heart full. I had sheep. Me. On my own little farm in Mississippi.

Of course, as joy settled in, so did fear. That nagging voice inside whispered, What if I can’t do this? But I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and let the worry go. I’ve made it this far. I can do this. And I’m not doing it alone—I’ve already found a community here I know I can lean on. Plus, discovering that our local Tractor Supply delivers was a small miracle in itself. Earlier in the week I had checked everything off the farm’s supply list thanks to them.

The next afternoon, the girls and I sat together in the pen. Dale finally allowed me to scratch under his chin, and Ernie followed suit. A small moment, but one that filled me with a quiet pride.

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Thunderstorms and Small-Town Surprises

Earlier this week brought our first real Mississippi thunderstorm. Just as we were nearly done cooking dinner, the power cut out. The house went dark, but thankfully, it came with a generator. Jim figured out how to start it, but we didn’t know much about it yet, so we kept it running for only a few hours.

When we turned it off and settled in for the night, the house turned into a furnace. The air was thick, still, and heavy. Sleep was hard to come by as lightning danced across the sky and thunder cracked so loudly it shook the walls. I grew up with storms like this, but Jim hadn’t—and even in the midst of exhaustion, he was in awe.

By morning, the storm passed and the power returned. The world looked washed clean, bright, and fresh again.

That afternoon we had a meeting with Roslynn’s teachers, so Jim and I turned it into a little outing. We grabbed lunch in town and popped into a few local shops. I found the most charming hair and nail salon—and right next door, a quaint odds-and-ends store filled with everything from handmade cards to locally raised meat.

As we wandered, mentally checking off future Christmas gifts, the shopkeeper struck up a conversation. I couldn’t believe it—I knew her from high school! Another small-world moment that made this place feel even more like home.

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Settling Into Southern Life

It’s now been three weeks since we rolled into town, road-weary but hopeful. The exhaustion still lingers, and the to-do list is endless. But something inside us is shifting.

We’re building something here—slowly, imperfectly, beautifully.

Our little farm may have broken porch lights, a non-working oven, and a leaky water heater. But it also has sheep in the yard, stars in the night sky, and neighbors who remember your name.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m right where I belong.