One Year Later

June 2026

A year ago, I closed on the property that would become Farm in Broome.

At the time, I stood in an overgrown field looking at old stone walls, forgotten trails, and possibilities I couldn't quite explain. I knew what I felt, but I wasn't entirely sure what I was building.

Monday also marks three years since Xiang passed away and my birthday. Those anniversaries sit side by side in my heart, representing an ending I never wanted and a beginning I never expected.

Over the last twelve months, many of you have followed along as this dream slowly took shape. You've read stories about lost sheep, newborn lambs, stubborn goats, Highland cows, wild ramps, old cemeteries, stone walls, historic maps, construction headaches, and countless projects that seemed impossible until they weren't.

What you may not have seen were the quiet moments in between. The moments sitting alone in a field wondering if I was making the right decision. The moments standing in a half finished house questioning how everything could be so difficult. The moments of grief that still arrive unexpectedly, even three years later. And the moments of overwhelming gratitude when a visitor shares a story, a neighbor stops by, or someone sends a note saying they found comfort in something we've shared.

When Xiang died, I wasn't looking for a farm. I wasn't looking for a business. I wasn't looking for a project. I was simply trying to figure out how to survive the loss of someone I loved.

What I discovered over time was that healing doesn't always come from finding answers. Sometimes it comes from finding purpose.

Over the past year, Farm in Broome has become more than land, animals, trails, gardens, and buildings. It has become a place where stories are shared, where people can slow down, and where children meet animals for the first time. It's a place where adults remember what it feels like to be present and where people carrying grief, stress, uncertainty, or simply the weight of everyday life can take a deep breath and reconnect with themselves.

Many of you have heard me say that the mission of Farm in Broome is simple:

Rest. Reflect. Grow.

The longer I work on this project, the more I realize those words aren't just for visitors. They're for me too.

This past year has tested me in ways I didn't anticipate. There have been setbacks, delays, unexpected expenses, losses, and more lessons than I can count. There were days when I felt like I was building something meaningful and days when I felt completely lost. Sometimes both happened before lunch.

Yet somehow, through all of it, the farm kept teaching me the same lesson: keep going. The sheep don't care about schedules. The donkeys don't care about deadlines. The flowers bloom when they're ready, and the seasons keep moving forward.

Nature has a way of reminding us that growth rarely happens in a straight line.

As we enter our second year, I feel a mixture of emotions that are difficult to describe. I miss Xiang every day. I wish he could see the Highland cows standing in the field at sunrise. I wish he could meet the visitors who now travel from across the region to experience this little corner of Broome County. Most of all, I wish he could see how much kindness has grown from so much loss.

Because that's really what this place is about.

Farm in Broome was born from loss, but it is rooted in kindness. Every animal, every tree, every trail, every event, every visitor, and every story shared here is part of something larger than any one person. It's proof that difficult chapters can still lead to beautiful things.

As I look ahead to the next year, I'm excited for what comes next. More trails. More gardens. More history to uncover. More educational programs. More opportunities for people to connect with the land, with animals, with one another, and with themselves. And hopefully, many more chances to welcome you here.

Thank you for following this journey. Thank you for your encouragement. Thank you for your patience as I learn, stumble, rebuild, and grow. Most importantly, thank you for helping transform an idea into a community.

Whether you've visited the farm, followed online, shared a story, offered advice, or simply opened these newsletters each month, you've become part of this journey.

One year ago, I bought a farm.

What I've gained since then is something far greater.

A community.

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