Notes from our small farm in the Beira interior — harvests and heartbreaks, recipes, wildlife, and the quiet work of tending trees. Pull up a chair.
We’ve fenced off the middle section of our land — the most fertile area where the horta and the well sit. With the ground freshly turned and blue skies overhead, it feels like the farm is breathing again.
Our poor vines have had a rough few years — first the goats, then the sheep, and finally the fire. Surely next year will be their year… right?
The fire left our fields bare and our animals without grazing. With fences destroyed and hay stores gone, we’ve had to move the sheep and goats into a smaller pen while we slowly rebuild.
The fire came fast. But somehow — through courage, luck, and stone walls — our house survived. So did every single animal. This is the story of those terrifying two days, and of what comes after the flames.
From three to thirteen: Domino in a secure garden, Mia at the farm, kittens rescued and neutered, one brave blind baby—more bowls, more bills, and so much more love.
After almost five years of paperwork and slow repairs, we unlocked the door and made coffee as the grove woke around us and I finally began this diary.
