Story Time at Clatter Ridge Farm

About Story Time at Clatter Ridge Farm

I'm a farmer, thinker, and writer. I can't seem to help myself. It's what I do, who I am, and what I love. clatterridgefarm.substack.com (https://clatterridgefarm.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast)

Publisher

Bobbie Emery

Category

science · society & culture

Language

en

Explicit

No

First episode

13 Jul 2025

Latest episode

21 Oct 2026

Latest episodes

63 episodes in the feed.

1. 

   21 Oct 2026

   Until a Good End Comes

   I first posted this story in October 2023, but I think it deserves an update - which I have included at the end as a postscript. Shortly before my mom passed away, she encountered a skunk with an empty dog food can stuck on its nose. She wanted to help but wasn’t sure how she could without getting sprayed. She was heading into the church for a meeting, and someone called out to her to leave it be and she did. She told me later that she felt like a hypocrite going into the church when she was too afraid to help what was surely the “least of these.” I told her, I for one, was very glad she didn’t try, as I would have had to give her a tomato juice bath, just like when her Irish Setter got sprayed. (To be clear, Ted the dog was not trying to be a good Samaritan - he was actually going out of his way to antagonize the skunk). I wrote my mom a children’s story about the skunk, titled “Late Again”, which ironically, I didn’t finish in time to ever show her. A very long decade passed with the story stashed in a desk drawer, until a couple years ago when I thought my grandchildren might enjoy it. I asked my sister if she would illustrate it, but she said no - as did a couple of other artist friends. They all said that illustrating was an art unto itself, and that I needed an illustrator - a children’s book illustrator. So, I went online in the fall of 2021 and checked out freelance illustrators for hire and found one in Ukraine. I loved her work, and she seemed like she would be easy to collaborate with. It was before the war and all I knew about Ukraine was that I liked how they raised honeybees! Admittedly it wasn’t a lot to go on and by the time I decided to offer her the job, the Russian Army was gathering on the Ukrainian border so I waited, thinking it would all blow over in a couple weeks. Weeks turned into months and when the Russians actually invaded, I sent Nataliia a message and some money- it was our first contact. I told her I had wanted to hire her but the money I was sending was just a gift, and that I hoped it would help her get somewhere safe. She thanked me in an email from “on the road near Kyiv” as she fled to Slovakia with her children. She said all she could take with her was a knapsack and iPad and that the money I sent would help her buy clothes for her two children. She said despite “these hard times” she had much to be grateful for because, “unlike most of the women fleeing the country, as long as there is internet wherever I end up, I can still work and provide for my family.” I told her at some point I wanted her to illustrate a children’s book for me and that she should contact me when she was safe, and the time was right. She wrote from Slovakia and said she was ready to work and that “now more than ever” she would appreciate the distraction. I sent her the story but by spring the shelter where she was staying closed, and she said she was heading back to Ukraine. It was months before I heard from her again. When she started sending the preliminary sketches and colored illustrations, I watched as the story I had written magically came to life. Every day I’d check to see if she’d sent anything, which she often did after she put her kids to bed. “A quiet night!” She’d cheerfully write. “No rockets or drones”. Sometimes the illustrations came in the middle of the night, and I’d ask if she was ok. “Yes, we are fine, but the kids are restless from the constant sirens and explosions, so we are spending the night in the basement of our apartment building.” Some nights they’d sleep in the hallway outside their apartment – “where there is no glass to shatter. The bombs are far off but our windows rattle so much I’m afraid they will explode.” She sent pictures of her 5-year-old daughter sound asleep sitting with her back against the wall, and of her 7-year-old son grinning as he peered out from under a blanket covering his head. “We are fine” she wrote “and if we survive all this, nothing will ever frighten us again.” The process of creating this book took on a life of its own and though I am thrilled that it is finally done I have no intention of ever profiting from its creation. All the proceeds from the sale of the book will go to Save the Children’s “Fund in Ukraine.” More than anything, I hope my grandchildren love the story. I’ll hold them close and read it to them as many times as they’ll let me. We’ll sit outside, under our brilliant blue New England sky and enjoy a quiet autumn breeze. We are as far from drones and bombs and shattering glass as we could possibly be, and from a life I pray to God they’ll never know. Postscript February 21, 2025 - and here we are again October 21, 2026 Horrified, and nauseated, by our country’s most recent policy change and abandonment of Ukraine, and its desire to normalize relations with Russia - I wrote Nataliia and said that I was sorry. I fully expected an expletive laced response, but as always, her focus was on her children and her hope for their future - not her own. She ended her email with; “I console myself with the thought that everything will be fine in the end, and if it is not fine now, then it is not the end yet. So, we fight, we work until a good end comes… And thank you for your support, it is like a small ray of light:) ” Here is the link to United 24 (https://u24.gov.ua/) It is the official Ukrainian Government sponsored website for those of us who wish to donate directly to Ukraine. On that website there are dozens of funds you can chose to support - from rebuilding schools to robotic demining efforts. I now direct my donations to support the Ukranian military because that is what, as an American, I voted for my government to do. And even if my government is no longer willing to honor its commitments, at least I still can. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit clatterridgefarm.substack.com (https://clatterridgefarm.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1)

2. 

   24 Sept 2026

   A Flock of One’s Own

   I try not to take it personally but I’m starting to notice just how many of my friends have left me recently. Our chantarelles were the first to go. As soon as the heat of the summer started to fade, the meandering patch of apricot scented mushrooms vanished without a trace. I know the subterranean mycorrhizal network is still there, but it’ll stay hidden until the next prolonged heatwave soaks into the ground and wakes them up again. I’m forever hopeful though, and every time I walk by the sleeping patch I gently plead, “Just one more?” Our swifts abandoned us one day last week, just as abruptly as the chantarelles. They left the chimney, as they always do, right before dawn but they failed to return home that night to roost, and I’ve not heard from them since. I’m sure they’ve already reunited with their extended flock headed to South America where they’ll hang out for the winter. I should be happy for them, and I know they’ll be back next year, but I really wasn’t ready to see them go. The cicadas and katydids are still going strong, but they too will fall silent after the first hard frost, and I know that night is coming soon. Breeding season for our sheep began a few weeks ago, as the daylight length started to change. Our young ram lambs started fighting incessantly with each other and began to look at their female flock mates in a whole new light. We relocated them to another pasture, a bachelor pad of their own, and for the most part, civility has returned. The young fawn twins that were born in our pasture this Spring, still have their spots but as their winter coats grow in, they will look more and more like the yearlings they’ll soon become. Bears are now looking for the 20,000 calories a day they need to gain the fat reserves that will sustain them through the winter. Our chickens, sheep and ducks unfortunately make an easy meal. Male coyote pups will soon get chased off their childhood turf and will wander about looking for new territory, a mate of their own, and food along the way. And so, the season of predation begins again and I’m not ready. We have miles of fencing to repair and fewer hours of daylight each day to get it done. And of course, there’s hay to collect, hoses to drain, and firewood to bring in. Last year, after an epically long snowy winter that just wouldn’t quit, I told a woman I barely knew that I envied my sheep. Sometimes being part of a flock seems like just the perfect thing. Sure, I have plenty of friends and family, but there are times that I don’t really want consolation or help - sometimes, all I want to do is lift my head and bellow and have a flock mate bellow back. That’s it, a gentle but firm reassurance that I’m not alone. My new friend who has health issues for which there is no cure, and of which she is clearly tired of discussing, wholeheartedly agreed. She was particularly enamored by our flock of ducks. She loved the constant greeting and head bobbing - as if they were forever meeting each other anew, over and over again. So now, once a day or so, and apropos of nothing, or something, one of us will stop what we are doing and lift our heads long enough to text out a “Baa!” or “Quack” and the other will respond in kind. No attempt to console or fix anything. Just a baa or quack in passing. After a particularly frustrating day this summer, filled with mostly self-inflicted pain, I texted her “Baa! Quack! Splat!” and that elicited a bit more concern than usual. “Everything okay?” she texted back quickly. “Yes, just a minor stumble– thanks for checking.” “That’s what flock mates do” - she reminded me. And then we went about our separate lives, having neither fixed nor sorted anything - but inexplicably happier, just the same. I’m not ready for it to be winter again, but clearly it is on its way. Once it finally arrives though, it’ll be fine, and I’ll settle in. Winter always means more time in front of the fire reading, writing - and watching Anne pretend she hasn’t just fallen asleep again. So even as the seasons are changing and time is clearly moving on, I can take comfort in knowing that in this journey that we mostly travel alone- I do indeed have a flock of my own. Baa! Quack! (no splat) Thanks for reading Clatter Ridge Farm! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit clatterridgefarm.substack.com (https://clatterridgefarm.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1)

3. 

   18 Sept 2026

   God Forbid!

   Years ago, after my dad died, I accompanied my mom to the bank. The manager suggested that she add another name to her checking account, “in the event that, God forbid, you should become incapacitated or die.” My mom chuckled and I shot her the look that she used to give me - the look that pleaded “Please don’t say whatever it is you are about to say.” And she, with all the defiance she had clearly learned from me, told him “We are all going to die - in fact that’s part of his plan. God requires it.” Though less tactful than she might have been in her younger years, she was absolutely correct – death seems to be the only predictable outcome to being alive. Whether human, hummingbird, goldfish, or a hemlock tree, our time will come. In livestock farming, death is a way of life. The sheep in our fiber flock either die from disease, predators, or old age, none of which is a particularly pleasant way to go. Our abattoir on the other hand is kind, gentle, and quick. We didn’t get into farming with the idea of ever selling meat, but over the years our thoughts evolved. The more we learned about farming, the more strongly we believe that large confinement operations are a horrific blight on our morality, environment, and health. So, until the entire country becomes vegan, there needs to be many more alternative sources of meat. Being a purveyor of death can be soul crushing, but I believe strongly in trying to change the way this country farms, by offering at least one small-scale alternative . Thanks for reading Clatter Ridge Farm! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit clatterridgefarm.substack.com (https://clatterridgefarm.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1)

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