“Hey, whatever happened to that shed you were buying?”

Three years ago, this text from my friend Roger popped up on my phone screen. It had been several months since I first reached out to Roger about living with me. We had gotten to know each other at Burning Man but distance kept us acquaintances.

I had been so lonely since my husband left several years before — and overwhelmed by the work load that came with maintaining four acres of land in the rural country woods.

It was the pandemic’s second wave, and my first winter as a farmer. I had managed well in the spring and summer, embracing the time at home with my children. I reveled in the rural country setting that surrounded us as I walked the long, winding trail from the cabin I shared with my children to the red barn behind my parent’s farmhouse.

But a hard winter was coming.

I longed for a housemate and my friend Roger was in need of a change. For months, I texted pictures of possible living spaces — a backyard shed I could convert into a tiny house; a friend’s tricked-out psychedelic RV he could park in my driveway; and most recently, a finished “she shed” with electric and heat!

However, as the months passed I couldn’t get Roger on board for a visit, much less a change of address.

His text came as a surprise.

“Funny you should ask,” I texted back. “I am still working on the shed transport, but I just found some free cement slabs that could be used as a foundation. It’s a long drive to pick them up — but they are free! I just need someone to help me pick them up!”

Two days later on December 12, the sun was shining so Roger made the long drive from his place to mine on his shiny blue motorcycle. By day’s end, we had the cement slabs and Roger intended to return home the following morning.

The Universe, however, had other plans.

First, a flat tire sidelined his bike— and so he spent the New Moon here.

Then we were hit with a blizzard like we had not seen in years. His tire was fixed but riding a bike home in freezing temperatures was out of the question.

One day turned into two, and then six more … Roger left on December 20 but then returned to celebrate with us on Christmas Eve, left again for New Year’s, but returned on January 2.

As the weeks turned into months, I grew accustomed to seeing Roger in the pasture with Peanut our mini horse, running next to him and waving his arms like he was a little boy.

Such a joyous sight helped to balance out the harsh challenges of winter farming: freezing water in the barn, sick animals, and constant snow.

I knew winter would be hard, but I couldn’t predict that a brutal case of shingles would completely sideline me for most of February – but as fate would have it, I was no longer alone.

I survived shingles and all of the animals made it through the winter. In June, our first baby goats were born on the farm. Then, in an extraordinary sequence of events, I purchased my parents’ property and Little Brook Farm became mine!

What a difference a year makes!