Welcome to today's Survival Diary April 27
Life on a homestead is never just about the chores—it’s about the stories, the memories, and the healing that come with each passing day.
Today was one of those quiet, rainy days that forced me to slow down and reflect.
From watching Beauty—our rescued horse—settle in, to laughing at our duck Sunshine splashing in puddles, to dreaming about the new chicks and turkeys on the way, there was a lot to take in.
But under it all, there’s a deeper layer: these animals, this land, they’re all part of a healing journey for me.
Every muddy hoofprint and soggy feather is another step toward reclaiming a sense of safety, stability, and peace I never had growing up.
This diary isn’t just about daily tasks—it’s about survival, in every sense of the word.
If you’ve ever searched for peace in the chaos, this story is for you.
Rainy Days on the Homestead and Animal Adventures
Rainy days on the homestead are a bit like life—unexpected, sometimes inconvenient, but often filled with quiet gifts if you know where to look.
This morning, the clouds rolled in heavy and low, and the steady patter of rain against the barn roof set the rhythm for the day.
I headed out early to check on Beauty—our sweet rescue horse.
Or so I thought.
The unexpected twist?
Her former owner dropped by and casually let it slip: her name is actually Dolly.
I stood there, soaked to the skin, and couldn’t help but feel the weight of that moment.
The name Dolly brought with it a flood of feelings—grief, anger, and compassion all tangled together.
You see, she was beaten while chained to her saddle.
When she couldn’t take it anymore, she broke the chain.
She fought for her life—and won.
The hay man who came to deliver feed called 911 and loaded her into his trailer.
That kind of trauma doesn’t just disappear.
I know what that’s like.
What’s In a Name?
Beauty or Dolly?
To most, it’s just semantics.
But for me—and for her—it’s a symbol.
A name is a piece of identity, and this animal has already lived through more than any should.
I’ve lived through that too.
My identity was stolen from me for years. I was told who I was, what I should be, and punished when I fell short of impossible expectations.
So I’m letting Sarah decide what name stays.
Because reclaiming identity, even in the smallest ways, is part of healing—for both people and animals.
Life Still Grows, Even in the Rain
Despite the mud and mess, the homestead continues to hum with life.
There’s a family of cardinals nesting nearby and a pair of blue jays that haven’t shown me where they’ve set up home yet, but I know it’s close.
When I catch a flash of red or blue darting across the sky, it reminds me of hope, of joy, of life carrying on.
Darla and Mr. Buck, my goats, are done with this weather.
They’ve become picky eaters lately—turning their noses up at the grass hay they used to love.
But don’t we all have our days?
I can’t blame them.
I’ve had seasons where I couldn’t stand the very things that once brought comfort.
I think back to the times in my life when I didn’t have enough to eat—when food was rationed out as a control tactic.
I wasn’t allowed preferences.
Now, my animals have them, and I honor those quirks.
It’s my way of rewriting the past.
A Joyful Mess
Sunshine the duck doesn’t share the goats’ disdain for the rain.
She’s out there splashing in puddles like she’s at a spa retreat.
She reminds me to look for the joy—even on the dreariest days.
Her happiness is contagious.
And the chickens?
A few braved the damp to peck through the mud.
I watched them, smiling at their cautious curiosity.
Animals teach us so much—about resilience, about persistence, and about being present in the moment.
New Life Is Coming
Sunday can’t come fast enough.
We’re expecting turkey poults and ducklings—new life, new hope.
It’s my favorite part of homesteading.
That anticipation, that joy of welcoming new creatures into the fold.
And Kim is hatching Polish chicks and Showgirls for me.
I can already picture them flouncing around the coop with their fluffy heads bobbing.
They’re such characters.
But there’s something deeper here too.
Every new animal that comes to this homestead is a reminder of how far I’ve come.
From a childhood filled with fear and uncertainty to a life I’ve built with my own hands—this place, this work, this way of life—it’s mine.
What Keeps Me Going
So many people ask me how I keep going.
I don’t always know.
Some days I’m tired.
Some days I’m triggered.
Some days I feel like giving up.
But then something small happens—a baby bird sings, Beauty leans in for a scratch, or I spot the first signs of germination in the garden.
And suddenly, I remember.
I’m still here.
I’ve survived.
I’m building something beautiful out of the broken pieces—and sharing it with you.
Your Turn
Have your animals ever surprised you?
What name would you choose—Beauty or Dolly?
Let’s talk in the comments.
I’d love to hear your stories, your struggles, and your victories.
We’re not alone in this.
This is what survival looks like—one rainy day, one muddy boot print, one baby chick at a time.
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