Last year around this time, I wrote a blog encouraging everyone to just do it: Commit to living your best life and “Buy The Darn Farm!” But these past few months, I’m feeling the winter blues down to my frozen core. I’m reflecting on how my dream of raising my family on my very own farm isn’t always so dreamy. Farm life isn’t always sunshine, roses and carrots. It’s very hard, both physically and mentally, and requires sacrifice.

Though I know in the depths of my heart that I want this life for my family, lately, I’ve been a crankpot. The extent of my crankiness isn’t anything I could predict before taking the leap to buy our place. The constant balancing act of catering to five kids and our ponies is taxing. It’s not that I regret the decision. I still believe if this is the life you’ve aways longed for, you should buy the darn farm. I just want to be honest about the feels I’ve been grappling with.

Loneliness: The loneliness is twofold. I miss the camaraderie of boarding at a barn with friends who share my crazy passion. Barn friends encourage me to ride when I’m in a rut and boost me up when I feel like I suck. Sure, owning my own place is free of the drama that can accompany quirky barn personalities, but it’s also isolating.  

I know my kids also long for company. They want the fun and the connection with other bitten-by-the-horse-bug kids. My younger daughters jump at the chance to attend horse camp, take group lessons elsewhere, and to hang with other kids who love to ride. But owning our place is expensive, and that limits the type of opportunities I can provide.

And it’s not just the longing for a barn crew to hang with, warming our frozen tootsies in the tack room and dissecting our rides, that sometimes saddens me. There is another sort of loneliness. I feel myself drifting further from those in my life who don’t get farm life, and this disconnect even includes my favorite horsey friends who board.  

So rarely do friends ask, “How’s the farm?” It’s not a reflection on them, it’s just not at the forefront of their lives as something we can vibe over. They can’t relate to fighting the winter doldrums, desperately trying to keep pipes from bursting and buckets from freezing. Often, they don’t understand the frustration of not riding for weeks because the ground is too stubborn.  

Ultimately, I feel alone because the farm is an all-consuming lifestyle. It’s not just a hobby. It is part of my identity now. When I vent, it’s mostly to a sprinkling of friends who share my frustrations, other nutty folks who thought farm life sounded glorious. I haven’t yet found a true community, and perhaps that is on me. I need to try harder on that front.

Crankiness: It’s shameful to admit—I sound like a brat—there are days I feel resentful about this life I wanted soooo badly. Granted, these are often days the driveway down to the barn is coated with ice, and my five kids are home, ricocheting off walls, because school was canceled for the third day in a row, but still. When I’m mucking stalls in the artic, I’m not living it up. I’d rather be snug under an electric blanket watching what my kids call my “murder shows.” The weight of the added responsibility, every single day, of ensuring the ponies are well cared for, on top of raising a family, impacts me. I have such newfound respect for barn owners who also cater to boarders while balancing family life.

One of the most powerful triggers for my grumpiness is when my kids are reluctant to participate. I ask my 5-year-old to ride her pony after school, and she quips: “Not today, mom. I had a hard day at school.” She’s in kindergarten. How exhausting could snack-time and letter recognition be? In these moments, the anger gurgles inside me like a geyser ready to blow. I ask my 8-year-old to feed the ponies on the weekend, prying her away from a riveting episode of “Alvin and the Chipmunks,” and she glares at me like I’m an evil witch before she huffs off to do the deed.  

I just want to explode! Here’s my mad-mommy-who-is-spinning narrative: I bust my butt for these kids to have this magical pony life in their backyard. How dare they take it for granted. This life that sucks so much of my time and energy, and they don’t care. They are entitled. When I am no longer possessed by evil spirits, I do come back around and remember: They are just typical kids. They do love this life. Sometimes they just have a weird way of showing it.

Burnout: On my worst days, I don’t remember if I love this anymore. I’ve got a one-way, non-stop ticket to burn-out-city. Granted, it’s been a trying winter. Between the cold, the wet and the lack of sun, my anemic family hasn’t been able to enjoy the horses like we have the past two years. Lately, horse life is just doing-chores life. And the kids feel this, too, which is why they are less inclined to hang at the barn. And when they do venture down, boy, do they whine. 

We can’t truly take a break, leave for a night to take the kids to a water park. It’s hard to make plans last minute or get away to return refreshed, because the horses always come first. Though we have owned our barn for over two years, I must still remind myself spontaneity is a thing of the past, unless it’s ordering Chinese food instead of pizza. That can be hard on the kids as well.

Lately, even when I have a spare moment, I don’t have the desire to groom or ride my young pony project because I’m spent from other barn duties.

Though I’m questioning my life choices right now, I know this is temporary. When I emerge into some sunshine, I’ll come to my senses and want to spend quality pony time. Sometimes it’s just hard to remember in the moment that feeling exhausted isn’t always the same as wanting to quit.

Worry: I carry extra worry about the farm around with me. I’m trying my very best to meet the demands of my large family, and the barn provokes additional anxiety. It’s hard to feel I’m doing either adeptly. There are the constant nagging concerns: Did I remember the right blankets? Did we buy enough hay? Is the pony acting weird? Does she look too thin? When you board, you pay for the luxury of letting someone else worry for you. And let me tell you, I have come to realize that is money well spent! If you run a boarding facility, boy do I appreciate the services you provide on a level I didn’t understand before. 

There is also the worry about finances. I order a ton of hay, so we have enough, but it is freaking expensive. I remember the correct weight blanket, but the pony kills it the first time she wears it. Our old pony is acting weird, which results in a vet visit with the farm call and all the other bills. 

My husband and I are constantly talking about where we spend our money.  Do we do necessary upgrades to our home or fix our tired fencing? Do we add a hot water heater down at the barn or paint the kid’s rooms? There are a many monetary decisions that weigh on us.

Longing: Even though I own this piece of horse paradise, it’s never enough. We don’t have a ring, and the quotes for a basic outdoor are sky-freaking-high. The practicality of riding is a challenge when the footing is dry or frozen. And because we have no lights, same deal, our riding window is limited. Our access to trails is rocky and limited. 

I didn’t think about the waning daylight after the kids get off the bus or the fickleness of the fields that can make riding a challenge. And that’s extra tough if you have goals you are yearning to achieve, like my eldest daughter does. But I remind myself, it’s OK for the horses to have downtime when we just can’t make it work. 

What weighs against all these negative feelings? The value of sticking with our dream.

The farm is like a marriage: The initial passion and thrill may dissipate, but the love and commitment remain. There are days when I question whether I’m cut out for it, when the responsibilities seem overwhelming. But deep down, I know this is good for our family. I suspect that once I get a decent dose of Vitamin D again, I’ll be more certain and chipper. 

For now, in the moments of exhaustion and doubt, I remind myself of what truly matters. The autonomy to make my own decisions about my horses is irreplaceable. Watching our ponies out in our fields each day still takes my breath away. 

Most of all, I know undeniably that my kids love farm life. And I know they are continuing to learn invaluable lessons each day. What I want my kids to understand from our journey is simple: Dreams require sacrifices. They’re not always easy, and there will be challenges. But we never give up. Because dreams are worth it. 

Jamie Sindell has an MFA in creative writing from the University of Arizona and has ridden and owned hunters on and off throughout her life. She is a mom of five kids, ages 3 to 14. She and her family reside at Wish List Farm, where her horse-crazy girls play with their small pony, Cupcake, and her son and husband play with the tractor.