Dark Solstice
Sometimes You Need to Remind Yourself Who You Are
I will keep this short. I know everyone is busy preparing for the holidays or busy properly enjoying them. I will be here, tending the fire at the farm. I can’t travel and I am used to being alone. I will be fine. I will be surrounded by work, animals, music, and films. It doesn’t mean it’s not hard.
Be kind to people this week. Kinder than you have been all year. Because what might be your favorite holiday is someone else’s prayer for spring, at best.
I am heading into January still trying to make the November mortgage payment. The farm will be eligible for foreclosure in a few weeks. So I am sharing this post originally titled “Grow Up” on August 30th, 2023. I need to see it in print again, because everything on those old blogs is offline. I did that because I felt I should no longer write for free, as it was the best skill I had and I was giving it away.
I am sharing an excerpt from that post to remind myself who I am, and how far I have come. Reading it helps me feel less afraid. Because I had no idea, back in August, how I would pay for the hay in my barn or firewood stacked outside; and it’s out there. there isn’t a dog napping by the fire or horse in my pasture that has ever known hunger. There’s a fire now because of how I figured out September.
So on this dark solstice, I’m sharing this furnace of a post I wrote to hype myself up for hardship. Because I’m not sure if this substack will save this farm or destroy it. But when I first shared this, I was in this same situation I’m in now and I got through that. I can get through this, too.
More light is in the way.
Grow Up
Originally posted August 30th, 2023 (since archived)
The price I pay to live, write, and create on my own farm is incredibly high. I still think it’s worth it. So I keep going. But that doesn’t mean I don’t hear about it.
I hear about it from everyone, especially people online. When I post on social media about pet portraits, pork, lamb, logos, books, soap, hell anything I can make and sell here on this homestead—I get some anonymous comment that advertising what I sell is begging for money, or pathetic, or embarrassing.
I am constantly told to quit the farm, sell it. It’s time to grow up. Stop trying to scrape together a living and get a “real” job. I’m told real grown ups aren't depending on the internet to support their livelihood and how long can I possibly sustain this?
I don’t know what brings a person to email a stranger to tell them how horrible their choices are, but I no longer think trolling has anything to do with me. It does have a lot to do with what makes people uncomfortable—and I think even if you’re just reading about this farm from afar—the stress gets to some of you too.
But if you are worried about me, here’s what I have to say:
I am not the one that needs to grow up.
I do need to work harder than ever before.
I need to remind myself is that, despite what anyone else thinks, or emails, or calls me - I am doing a hard thing.
How hard?
I want you to imagine that tomorrow morning you wake up in the same house, with the same bills, and the exact same life. But take away your job and any forthcoming direct deposits, insurance, or savings. Take away your inheritances or trust funds. Take away the credit cards. Take away any family you can call to borrow money from. Take away your spouse, roommate, kids, cash in the mattress or that boat in the yard you can sell. Take away anything or anyone that helps you pay your bills. All you can do to make a living is to reach out to the general public with the skills you have and the resources in and around your house; your phone and computer - backyard and property.
Imagine all that work and responsibility, and on top of it, you're running a farm alone. Now Imagine you haven't had a vacation in 15 years, or soaked in a bathtub in 20. Imagine the animals and customers depending on you. Imagine the pressure, the bad reputation, the rumors, the solitude…
Now - imagine you just made a late mortgage payment and you’re back to about $118 in your bank account. That that is all the money you have in the world and you're still behind and you have no idea how you’re going to make the next late mortgage payment.
Don't panic. Don’t spiral. Don't commit a crime. Use whatever skills and abilities you have and start marketing them, work harder than ever before, and make money.
Now get up every single morning alone and figure it out again, because know no matter how bad or good it gets, there is no plan B. There is no credit card to swipe, or parent to slip a check into your back pocket, or savings, or anything but the brain and abilities you have to figure out how to make that electric bill payment before they shut it off in a few days.
Could you do that? Could you pay all your bills this coming month if everything you had was gone and you had no one to help you? Because I have done this, every month, for over ten years. And I did it while dealing with root canals and broken down cars or no car at all. I did it while figuring out home repairs, taxes, and insurance. And I did it without someone to cry on and hold, because even if I was dating someone, admitting how scary it was only made me less desirable. So even when I thought I had someone to be honest with, I couldn't be.
And I still fucking did it.
What I know is that for the past decade I have done this. A life that most people think is reckless; I have fought for and kept. I have done this through stalkers, threats, criticism, and police sent to my door. I have done this through homophobia, misogyny, screaming pain, and heartbreak. I have done it while slowly healing myself, getting over addiction and an eating disorder. I have done it without hurting anyone, at least not intentionally. And I have done it while consistently creating art and sharing my story.
I have gotten this far, and I did it by whatever legal means necessary with the resources I’ve got. I did this while voting every election, without a criminal record and while engaging in community. I have done this with horses under me and hawks above me. I have done it finding peace casting to fish and finding mushrooms. I've done it while giving up any traces of a safe and normal life and knowing it means I'll probably always be alone.
I am writing a book about fish and falcons, about love and loss, about hope and nature. I am going to publish it regardless if any publisher wants it or not. And I am going to hope that book lifts this farm to a safer place, because what I do know is through all of this I have only had myself to count on, that that woman has been pretty fucking dependable. I’m still here, 13 years into owning this farm, and when I look around the house and animals and land I see a place that has never been better; a quiet thrill that makes me feel strong.
So, I'm heading into the last days of August with a prayer this full moon; that I still have the strength to keep going. Because if I can keep on, there’s wings to train and horses to ride. There’s a kitten to cuddle and pigs to fatten, pullets to tend, and sheep to harvest. There is still wood to stack, hay to store, and supplies to buy for winter. I don’t know how many people make an Oregon-trail inspired list of supplies for winter but I have learned to buy flour by the 50lb sack, and coffee by the 5. I have learned to store cheap things I can make, and that a life without a commute and 40-hour weekly distraction means I have time to bake bread and make a stew and watch the snow fall from my kitchen window on a Tuesday morning.
Those days are why I live like this, what I work towards. And while I know to many it seems foolish… how many people do you know that have made it this far on nothing but their own determination and the internet?
Yes, of course people have helped me over the years - amazing support! But they found me in the first place because of my words, my books, my putting myself out on a platter to be harassed and judged. How many of those farm blogs you used to read 15 years ago are still active? How many businesses have you seen rise and fall right on your own main street? How many marriages failed? How many dreams have you seen people quit because it was too hard, or too lonely, or too much?
I am still here. And I will figure out this month. And I will pay for August. And I will be okay. And I no longer care what names people call me or what my reputation is, loser or hero, because I have always taken care of myself and those who love me, even if they’re just cats and dogs. And I don’t care what people with direct deposit jobs and in-laws they borrow 10k a year from think of me, because most of them would fold in three months if they had to live like I have the last decade.
I love the woman who has accomplished all this, despite her flaws and embarrassing social media, because she is the hardest working woman I've met in the face of uncertainty and loneliness and fear, and still manages to make art and keep kibble in the bowls instead of making threats to strangers.
So tell me this? Which one of us is the grown up? The one who will lose everything the moment they lose their job, spouse, savings and can't borrow money? Or the one who has never had any of those luxuries and has taken care of everything alone since she left her parents’ home at 18?
I am a grown up. I'm Jenna fucking Woginrich. And I am doing a hard thing.
Okay, back to work.
If you’ve been following me on this substack, you’ve seen how much content I am putting out. I am doing it in hopes that free subscribers see all the writing they’re missing out on and hopefully upgrade to follow my story. If this is something you can afford, without any hindrance to your own necessities, please consider it. It could save this farm.
This is the one-woman operation trying to barely make it on fumes and hope. But hope held onto this long is pretty high octane. Feed the fire, please.