05/10/2026
Bittersweet. Every Mother’s Day carries a bittersweet coating. On the one hand, there is much to celebrate. My own mom, who graciously answered my call last week for help in the kitchen. My sarcasm, laid-back approach to life, and love of The West Wing all trace directly back to her. And beyond her, my grandmothers, aunts, teachers, and countless other mothers who helped shape who I am today. I stand on the shoulders of the mothers in my life.
On the other hand, the bitter. My beloved wife Sara and I have struggled with infertility for more than a decade. It has been a long road of loss and dashed hopes. She has supported my dream of farming and feeding people through nearly sixteen years of marriage, while her own dream of becoming a mother was painfully, tragically, continually delayed.
In the words of J. R. R. Tolkien, “oft hope is born when all is forlorn.”
Now, at last, there is a pale light of hope on the horizon. We stand somewhere between the long midnight of despair and the first light of dawn. And with that growing light comes the quiet feeling that maybe — this time — things will be different.
Join us as we stand in the tension of this place, hopeful that Sara will finally become a mother this fall.
