From High Above, We’re All The Same Down Here
September, 2025
I was sitting on the platform in the pig area, scratching Marty’s cheeks and watching the hair on his back stand up in pleasure as I found his favorite tickle spots, when I heard the tree fall.
It was a beautiful day - about 75°, a bright blue sky, puffy cumulus clouds drifting by, a slight breeze, and almost no humidity. A gorgeous September afternoon. How strange it was to hear the loud crack in the midst of such stillness and beauty! I looked around and couldn’t see anything, but the donkeys had startled and they, too, seemed to be searching for the source of the sound.
It struck me that even though everything seemed peaceful, for that tree, there were cracks that had grown too deep to bear. I wondered what led up to that final moment, when the spidery fissures spread until the tree snapped. What disease, insects, or rot had contributed to its demise? Did humans play a role? Or did the root system fail to communicate in some way that helped speed up the inevitable?
You may be wondering why I cared so much about a tree falling - a fair question, considering I’ve seen it happen many times before. This time, though, I felt it differently. I felt almost shocked with sadness. I know I am not the only one who senses the deep divide in society, who feels the weight and gravity of situations beyond my control. I am simply a witness who hears the crack.
Something I have come to treasure about Helping Friendly Farm are the relationships I’ve formed with our visitors—and just as important, the relationships they have formed with each other. Friendships and support systems have been born from bonding over goats and gardens. No matter what social or political views are held, when you share the life experience of raising a child with a disability, you feel a connection. When your child is flapping and stimming, running with a chicken, and you catch another parent’s eye, there may be a spark of recognition. An “I see you” moment. Lately, it may feel like we are at a breaking point, like that tree - as a society, a country, even a world. I know I feel it sometimes. If I allow myself to dwell on it, I can get overwhelmed with the heaviness of it all. But then I remember that we are more alike than we are different. The cars with “Don’t Tread On Me” bumper stickers and those with, “Ban Guns, Not Books” both park at the farm. The owners of each of those cars have family members whose needs brought them to Helping Friendly Farm. Each family struggles with transitions, with eating, with disruptions in routine. Each family loves deeply.
I am not going to pretend to know the answers to the multitude of questions that are permeating the airwaves right now. I am just a quasi-farmer and a mom trying to remember to stay grounded in my faith in humanity. The humanity I witness every day here at the farm shares the common thread of living a different life than we thought we would. I am a fierce advocate for my kids, I hold strong beliefs, and I know that I am a better person when I surround myself with people who are not exactly like me. We teach our children about inclusion and we want our children to be inclusive. Maybe during this heavy time when tensions are high and burdens seem too weighty to hold, we as parents and role models can remember to be inclusive with each other. We can rise up and come together.
The tree that fell will soon start to decompose and become food for the Earth and home to critters. It will help seed new plant growth as it returns its nutrients to the ground from which it grew. Whatever disease, insect, or rot that made it fall may or may not continue to perpetuate. It all depends if the ecosystem can steel itself as an inclusive entity against internal strife. I hope that in this climate fraught with divisiveness that the farm will continue to thrive as a place where differences are celebrated and heavy loads can be shared.
Our children deserve it.