Thirteen years ago, almost exactly, I got the idea to start writing this column. I imagined it would be entertaining to the folks who lived in and around my tiny town, and it would give me a creative outlet since I was no longer touring full-time as a musician.
I’d essentially been writing a version of it to my friends and family for the previous two years, trying to explain the strange and exotic place I’d found myself living.
When I first arrived in South Dakota, I thought I’d come to the prairie I’d read about in books like ‘Little House on the Prairie,’ and in a way I had. But, of course, those were books, not real life. Nothing I’d read could have prepared me for the adventure I was undertaking.
There were chicks first. Then lambs. Then the human children arrived. There was so much to learn! It was so overwhelming. So beautiful and challenging, exhausting and exhilarating. There was also the vast, open wilderness of grass and sky. The weather. The wind! And every week, week after week, I sat down to write about it.
I took a week off after my son was born and another after my daughter. But other than that — and a few unintended “vacations” due to technical difficulties — I’ve written a column every single week for over a decade. Usually, they were written on Sunday nights, since my deadline is Monday morning.
When the kids were tiny, column writing was often the only time I had to myself. Sometimes I’d be nursing while I wrote. Or, I’d be holding a sleeping kiddo in the crook of one arm, typing away with the other. Sometimes I wrote long after dark, my head nodding over the keyboard.
Looking back, I’m proud of that younger version of myself, who, against all odds, kept showing up at the page, but the truth is, writing was a big part of how I made sense of that glorious but very intense period of my life. As hard as it was to write a column every week, it would have been harder not to write one.
I’ll be honest, though, I’ve thought of calling it quits many, many times. Especially once the baby years were over and the kids weren’t napping anymore, but still needed me around the clock. Those years were the hardest. The kids are growing up, however, as all kids do, and while the emotional demands of parenting are as hefty as ever, the physical demands are not. Finding time to write is no longer a herculean task.
In other words, compared to some of those months where I was chasing two toddlers, or had a household sick with the puking flu and two lambs living in the laundry room, or was potty training a kid and a puppy at the same time, this is a weird moment to decide to take a break from writing this column.
But that’s where I find myself, and I’m not really sure how to explain it other than that it is time to let something new start to take root. I don’t think I am done writing regular missives from our ranch, but, after 13 years of harvesting stories from the rich soil of ranch life and early motherhood, I need a chance to let the fields lie fallow for a while.
Maybe a better metaphor is that instead of farming the ground of my creativity, I want a chance to wander through the wild grass and deep draws of my ideas and see what I find there.
The simple truth is, I want a break from thinking and writing so much about myself. I started working on a novel two winters ago and then got too busy to continue, but the characters are still calling to me, and I’m excited to see what they have to say…I suspect they have something to teach me, because I know I still have a lot to learn…
So this isn’t goodbye, just see you later!
(Eliza Blue is a shepherd, folk musician and writer residing in western South Dakota. In addition to writing her weekly column, “Little Pasture on the Prairie,” she writes and produces audio postcards from her ranch and just released her first book, “Accidental Rancher.” She also has a weekly show, “Live from the Home Farm,” that broadcasts on social media every Saturday night from her ranch.)
