Look what I've got!

Please leave a comment below. I love hearing from you.

Favorite places

There Are Places, and Then There Are PLACES!

Some places are just there, drifting by unnoticed, like the passing moments of a busy day. Others have a purpose—a supermarket for the week’s groceries, or a corner pizza joint that’s been around for decades. But then there are those rare places that hold something deeper, something timeless. Places that make you feel like you’ve stepped out of the world, even for just a moment, and into a space where your soul can breathe a little easier.

For Ollie, our English Shepherd, his favorite place is simple—a spot across my husband’s lap while he's reading in his chair. It’s the kind of comfort that only dogs understand, the pure joy of being close to someone you love, without a care in the world. It’s sweet, it’s uncomplicated, and it’s all he needs. And in his world, that’s just about perfect.

As for us humans? We’re a bit more complicated. We’re always chasing after something. But to find a moment of peace, a sliver of calm in the chaos of life, is precious. I found my spot many years ago, tucked under a tree in the backyard that feels like an old friend. It’s not just any tree, mind you—it’s the tree. The one that’s been there through every season, every change. Its branches stretch out like a protective arm, offering shade from the sun, a quiet sanctuary away from the bustle of everyday life.

Sitting there, beneath that tree, time seems to slow down. The world softens around me. I can breathe in the earthy scent of damp moss, the rich perfume of the ground after a rain. I hear the bullfrogs at the pond, their deep croaks echoing through the still air, like a song that's been sung for generations. The noise of the world slips away, leaving only the whisper of the wind through the leaves and the comfort of being right here, exactly where I belong.

In today’s world, where everything moves so fast, it’s easy to forget the importance of these quiet moments. But we all need a place to pause—a place to remember that some things don’t change. That tree has seen so many of my memories, from the simple joy of sitting in its shade to the weight of more difficult times when it felt like the world was too much. But no matter what, it’s always been there, patiently waiting, offering a little peace when I need it most.

So, find your spot, the one that feels like home, where you can step back from the rush and breathe in the world a little slower. The days may change, the years may pass, but those places, the ones that have been there all along, will always remind you where you come from and where your heart feels most at rest. Your soul will thank you.

Please leave a comment below. I love hearing from you.

Still Got It!

Clare Boothe Luce once said, “No good deed goes unpunished.” And while I’m sure she meant it in some deep, philosophical way about the human condition, I’m convinced she was secretly talking about farm life. Because the last time I tried to “help” a friend, I ended up with what can only be described as a hoof-shaped exclamation point right between my eyes.

Yes. A goat kicked me. In the face.

Before you send flowers or start a GoFundMe for my reconstructive surgery, let me clarify—it wasn’t intentional. And it wasn’t a human foot, thank heavens, although honestly, I might have preferred that at this point.

It all began when my friend Elaine needed help trimming her goats’ feet. Naturally, I volunteered. Why? Because apparently, I have a subconscious death wish and an overinflated sense of my own goat-wrangling skills. This is the same kind of misplaced confidence that brought you my Sheep Wrangling saga. Basically, I am the Lucille Ball of livestock.

The problem was one particular yearling who could have been drafted for the NFL—specifically as a running back for the New England Patriots. This goat was faster than a caffeine-addicted squirrel, zigzagging around the barn like she was avoiding sniper fire. We chased her for several minutes, which was ridiculous because Elaine and I were both hovering around 70, and the only marathons we run are when the bathroom is on the far end of the hallway.

After five minutes of wheezing and mutual glaring, I decided to get clever. My plan—if you could call it that—was to grab her back leg the next time she zipped by, hold on tight, and stop her dead in her tracks. Logical, right? Safe? Reasonable? HA!

The goat flew by, I reached out, grabbed her leg—and instantly found myself in a goat-powered drag race. My boots were skidding, my free arm was flailing, and for a few seconds I was basically water-skiing across the barn floor without the benefit of water. Then she stumbled and fell, taking me down with her. Then WHAM—her other leg came around like a steel-toed missile and clocked me square between the eyes.

And not just a light tap. No, ma’am. This was a Looney Tunes knockout punch. Stars. Fireworks. Possibly the sound of distant church bells. If Thor’s hammer had a baby with a pogo stick, that’s what hit me.

Did I let go? Of course not. This is the Sandy way: hang on until you either win or have to be airlifted out.

While I was staggering and seeing visions of my ancestors, Elaine—God bless her—had gone full WWE and was pinning the goat to the floor in a move that would have impressed The Rock. If goats could submit, this one would have been tapping the mat and begging for mercy. And you know what? We won.

Two senior citizens. One goat. And a victory dance (ours) that was mostly just us leaning on the barn wall trying to catch our breath.

After my face re-inflated to its original shape, I started laughing so hard I nearly fell over. Because if you’ve never seen two out-of-breath, borderline decrepit old women wrestle a goat, you’re missing out on the greatest slapstick comedy ever performed. Someone needs to follow
me around with a camera—we’d have a reality show in no time: Goat Takedown: The Senior Edition.

In the end, the goats’ feet got trimmed (because we’re nothing if not professionals), and my face now has a great story attached to it. Will I help Elaine again? Absolutely. Because if I survived this, the next time will obviously be fine.

Probably.

Please leave a comment below. I love hearing from you.