A Note to the Woman Who Feels Broken

Standing on the Edge | Wednesday Dispatch

You don’t owe the world strength today.

If all you did this morning was rise enough to feed what depends on you, that is enough.
If you lay back down in pain, exhaustion, or ache, that does not make you lazy or less.
It makes you human. It makes you tired. It makes you in need of gentleness.

I know, because that was me yesterday morning.

I saw to the goats and flocks, the dogs & cats, made sure everyone had feed and water, and then I crawled back beneath the blankets. My body ached in too many places to count. The weight, not emotional or even mental, but physical- the weight of pain was nearly too heavy to bare.

Sometimes, being broken doesn’t look dramatic.
It looks like feeding the animals and then curling up in bed with a heating pad.
It looks like whispering “I’ll try again later,” and meaning it with all the tenderness you have left.

And later, I did.

I rose again. Slower this time, but steady. By noon, the bouts of intermediate sun had burned off the last of the morning rain, and I made my way out to the duck and goose pen. The air smelled like mud and wet feathers. They greeted me with chatter and splashing, more curious than demanding.

There was no grand moment—just a quiet rhythm returning. One scoop of peat moss, one emptying of their mucky pool, one task at a time. And with each small thing, I felt a little more like myself again.

The happy honks and quacks as crisp clean water filled their pool, and fresh soft peat moss covered their mud soaked run were evidence enough. They were happy. That’s all that mattered.

The animals don’t expect perfection from us.
They trust us in small doses, with muddy boots and soft voices.
Maybe we should trust ourselves the same way.

So, to the woman who feels broken: you are still good.
You are still trying. You are still here.

And that is not failure.
That is faith.

One step at a time, even if the first is from your bed to the barn, or wherever you need to go.

— From the edge of the world, with care and understanding
🪶 Eden’s Edge

Be gentle with yourself, be forgiving of yourself, and above all—love yourself, even on the rough days. 🌿

June 25, 2025 0

🌿 About Me: Farming From the Edge of Everything

I live on the edge of the world — in rural Alaska — and I farm with a body that many doctors gave up on long ago. I’ve been told to stay down, stay still, and stay quiet.

I’ve never been good at doing what I’m told. Ever

🩺 What I Live With

I have Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis (PPMS), a form that I can’t treat conventionally due to severe allergic reactions. I also live with:

An unknown form of Dysautonomia (undiagnosed because insurance won’t cover the specialists)
Hemiplegic Migraines that mimic strokes
Myoclonic Seizures and a handful of neurological conditions that tag along like bad company
No sensation in my legs, arms, shoulders, or upper back — not numb, but gone

Once, a rancher accidentally parked a skid steer on my foot. I laughed when I told him. I couldn’t feel it. He panicked. I didn’t. I walked away with a bruise and a story.

🛠️ How I Survive

I’ve had 21 surgeries and major procedures, many performed without numbing due to emergency situations and allergic reactions.

I walk with forearm crutches, AFO braces, and arm supports — when I have to. Due to fall risk. I fight this and try not to use them.

I can’t feel most of my body. But I can feel the pull of purpose.

And so I farm.

I treat myself holistically — with herbal remedies I make, by eating only farm-raised food, and by refusing to give up.

🐾 Who I Am

I’m stubborn. Willful. Fierce. Independent.
I was that way as a kid, and I’ve only doubled down.

I’m a problem-solver, a creative thinker, and a deeply loyal soul.
I love helping people — especially those who are dismissed, overlooked, or shoved aside by the systems that should care for them.

My animals are my world.
They make me think, laugh, and get out of bed when the pain says otherwise.

I love:

Making cheese
Skinning and tanning hides the old-fashioned way
Growing, harvesting, and learning from the land
And this winter, I plan to teach myself leatherworking using my rabbit hides — so I can donate warm gloves and gear to the same people I feed
Spinning wool I sheer from my sheep

🥛 My Next Goal: The $1 Milk Share

One of the things I hear most from the families I help is this:

“Do you have any fresh milk?”

And it breaks my heart to say no, because I know how powerful fresh, whole milk can be, especially for seniors, kids, and those with health struggles. So here’s my next dream:

🧡 A $1 per month milk share program, for low-income families, veterans, and elders across the Kenai Peninsula.

The idea is simple:
Once I have enough dairy goats in milk, I’ll meet state guidelines and offer gallons of healthy, raw goat milk for just $1/month to those in need.
No markups. No gimmicks. Just clean, fresh milk, hand-milked and delivered with care.

🌾 Why I Share This

Because people assume too much about disability. About farming. About strength.

I don’t farm in spite of my conditions. I farm because of them.

This life — hard, bloody, cold, and beautiful, is the only one that ever made me feel truly alive.

If you’re new here: welcome.
If you’ve been knocked down: I see you.
And if you ever need to be reminded that broken bodies can still build beautiful things — come visit Eden’s Edge. In all its mess. One day it will be an Eden. My Eden.

We’re still standing.

Even on the edge.

June 21, 2025 0

💥 Why I Built a Farm I Can Barely Run

The truth behind Eden’s Edge, food injustice, and fierce determination in rural Alaska

People tell me I’m crazy. That farming with chronic illness, seizures, and a body held together by pain is reckless. That being on disability means I should sit down, stay quiet, and accept what I’m given. Don’t live. Give up. Accept doing nothing. Being nothing.

I tried that once. I almost didn’t survive it.

So instead, I chose sweat, straw, and the stubborn heartbeat of something bigger: feeding people who are constantly overlooked.

🥚 The Problem

Food banks hand out moldy produce and spoiled bread.
Pantries run dry before the end of the month.
Seniors live on cereal and fear.
Veterans go to bed hungry.
And if you’re disabled, like me, you’re expected to be grateful for whatever scraps come your way.

That’s not okay with me. So I started growing food — real food — and giving it away.

🐐 The Solution

I raise:

Chickens for eggs – Future meat production
Rabbits and goats for meat
Ducks and geese for joy (and more eggs)
Sheep for future lamb production (I have a ram lamb and yearling ewe!)
And a whole lot of hell when needed

I deliver food directly to those who need it — no shame, no strings, no secondhand rot.

This farm isn’t fancy. It’s not outside funded. It’s run on grit, compassion, and a whole lot of duct tape, blood, sweat and my tears.

✊ Why I Keep Going

Because when a senior cries over a dozen fresh eggs…
When a vet hugs a frozen rabbit and says it’s the first meat they’ve had in a week…
When a kid sees a goat for the first time and laughs…

I know this work matters.

💬 This is Just the Beginning

If you’re new here, stick around. Read the stories. Meet the goats. Share the mission.
And if you’re in a position to help — with feed, livestock, funds, or connections — I’d love to hear from you.

Because at the edge of the world, we grow more than food. We grow hope.

Inspiration is the ultimate goal. Disability doesn’t define who we are. Or limit what we can accomplish.

June 21, 2025 0