I’ve always considered myself a patient person. I mean, I’ve got three (soon-to-be-four) kids, and patience is basically the currency of motherhood. Whether it’s answering the same question 47 times in a row or waiting for a toddler to pick their favorite crayon (spoiler: it’s always purple in our house), I thought I had patience down. But let me tell you—nothing, not even the drama of bedtime or the chaos of snack time, prepared me for the patience required to build Taeda Farms.
Parenting Prepared Me ... Sort Of
Patience in parenting is like a messy, loud endurance sport that runs on snacks and coffee. Farm patience, though? It’s a quiet grind—grueling in its own right, but without the chocolate bribery. Instead of convincing a small human to just eat the broccoli, I’m learning to wait on permits, surveys, and environmental impact reports. Turns out, bureaucracy doesn’t care about my timeline, and it doesn’t move at the speed of, "Let’s wrap this up before nap time.” It moves at the speed of, “Let’s schedule another meeting in three weeks.”
And here’s the kicker: I’m a doer. I like to make decisions, take action, and get things done. But this farm? It’s not running on my impulses. It’s running on the pace of nature and government checks and balances—two things that are very thorough and very, very slow.
Learning to Wait on Wetlands
Did you know the Army Corps of Engineers checks for wetlands and habitats before you can build? Because I didn’t. When we first heard that, I half-expected someone to show up in camouflage and binoculars to survey the land for rare frogs or nesting salamanders. (Let’s be real, I’d probably offer them caffeine, too, at this point.)
Turns out, their process is less dramatic but just as thorough. They want to ensure we’re not disturbing ecosystems or wetlands, which is actually pretty incredible when you think about it. It’s humbling to realize how interconnected it all is even if my inner toddler sometimes just wants to yell, “Can we plant the flowers already?!”
The Double-Check Dance
This whole process has been one giant game of “check it again.” Permitting, zoning, surveying—it all gets reviewed, revised, and re-checked. And just when you think you’re done, someone says, “Actually, one more thing ...” As someone who thrives on momentum (thanks to raising three small humans), adjusting to this snail’s pace has been an experience. (Think the sloths in Zootopia and I am Officer Judy Hopps.)
There’s no winging it when it comes to land development, which I appreciate ... mostly. (But seriously, when can we plant?!) This kind of patience requires spreadsheets, more meetings than I care to count, and occasionally swallowing my frustration when yet another delay pops up.
Impatience Meets Growth
I won’t lie—there have been moments when I’ve wanted to stomp my feet and shout, “Why can’t we just start?!” But this farm isn’t just about me. It’s about creating something meaningful, sustainable, and lasting for our family, the community, and the land itself. That kind of vision requires us to slow down, do things the right way, and embrace the process ... even if that process feels like molasses on a cold day.
What This Journey Has Taught Me
- Impulse Isn’t Always the Answer: As much as I’d love to grab a shovel and go, this process reminds me that good things take time—and an unreasonable amount of paperwork.
- Patience Is a Muscle: And let’s just say mine’s been getting a workout. Who needs a gym when you’ve got delays to endure?
- Trust the Experts: Whether it’s the Army Corps of Engineers or the surveyor who now knows this property better than I do at this point, their work matters—even if their pace makes me itch with impatience.
- There’s Beauty in Doing Things Right: Rushing might get things done faster, but it doesn’t create the kind of farm—or life—I want for our family.
Finding Joy in the Wait
Patience is hard. No sugarcoating it. But it’s also teaching me to appreciate the stillness, the details, and the meaning behind the wait. Moving at the pace of wetlands assessments instead of impulses? It’s not my natural speed, but it’s a speed that’s helping me grow in ways I didn’t expect. And for that, I’m grateful ... mostly.
So, if you’re stuck waiting in your own journey—whether it’s raising kids, building a business, or waiting for your dream to take root—just know, you’re not alone. Sometimes, progress looks like sitting still, filing the 97th piece of paperwork, and trusting that today’s effort will pay off tomorrow.
Because it will. Probably after another meeting.
