August feels like the hinge between two seasons — summer’s warmth still clings to the mornings, but there’s a quiet shift in the air. The days are a little shorter, the air a little softer, and the to-do list on the homestead starts to look different.
The ducks and geese still splash in their kiddie pool like it’s the peak of summer, but I’ve started noticing feathers drifting across the yard as molting season creeps in. Nutmeg, our curious Rex rabbit, seems to spend more time stretched out in the shade these days, watching the rest of us bustle around like he’s got all the time in the world.
The garden… well, this year it’s mostly weeds. Nothing bloomed the way I hoped, and that’s okay. Some years the harvest comes in baskets, and some years the harvest is the lessons learned for next time. I’ve still found joy in walking through it — pulling a few weeds here, checking the soil there — because even in the “failed” seasons, there’s life, and there’s beauty in the trying. I’m still learning how to be a mom amongst everything else going on, so the garden can wait until I have things down a little better so I can focus on my plants a bit more.
The mornings are for chores — feed buckets, fresh straw, filling water bowls (and, inevitably, mopping up the puddles when someone knocks one over). The flock is let out and Nutmeg gets his morning greens.
Afternoons belong to my little one, who’s endlessly curious and always finding ways to keep life interesting. This kid is into EVERYTHING right now. That’s okay though, they’re learning how to be a person and have their say in things.
The messy magic of August is that it’s not perfectly ordered — it’s a little too hot, a little too busy, a little too loud — but in the middle of all that, there are quiet moments. Sitting in the grass watching the geese waddle across the yard. Hearing my child’s laughter when the ducks quack back at them. Sharing a snack with Nutmeg (who would eat the entire garden if I let him).
I think that’s what I love about this season — it’s the bridge between the wild freedom of summer and the steadier rhythm of fall. It’s a reminder that life doesn’t have to be perfectly balanced to be perfectly full.