When the Animals Knew

Long before I took a test or told a soul, the animals seemed to know.

It was midsummer, and I had gone out to feed my horse. I wasn’t feeling my best, though I couldn’t have told you why. As I stood there, leaning into the rhythm of the day, she walked up to me. With a gentleness that startled me, she lowered her head and rested her muzzle on my belly—small at the time, carrying just a lentil-sized life. I didn’t yet know what was stirring within me, but she did. In that quiet moment, I felt seen, carried, and held by a creature who spoke no words but offered a blessing just the same.

The chickens knew too. Instead of laying eggs in their nesting boxes down at the coop, they began to wander up toward the house. One by one, they left their offerings not in straw-lined boxes, but in the fig plant by my front door. It was as if they wanted to bring nourishment closer, to make sure I didn’t have to walk the distance each morning when I was most tired. And still to this day, five months later, they continue to lay their eggs there, faithful and insistent, providing breakfast within steps of where I rise.

When you live close to the land, you begin to notice that there is a language spoken all around you that has no words. The soil, the wind, the animals, even the trees, they communicate in rhythms and signs that only reveal themselves when you slow down enough to pay attention. Perhaps that is what my horse and chickens were doing: listening to a deeper current of life, attuned to changes that my own body had not yet fully recognized. There is a wisdom woven into creation, and when we are still enough, we can almost hear it humming beneath the surface.

Nature has a way of meeting us where we are. Just as the seasons shift, so do the seasons of our own lives. The earth does not rush from summer to fall, but slowly, quietly, colors change, and the air cools. In the same way, life within me was growing, unseen at first, but known in the hush of the barn and in the small gifts left by hens on the porch. It was as though God himself was preparing me, whispering, “You are not alone in this. We see you. We are with you.”

These small mercies, eggs on the porch, a horse’s gentle touch, remind me that we are part of a story much bigger than ourselves. When we are connected with the earth and its creatures, we are reminded daily of how life and love are interwoven. There is no divide between God's sacred creation and the ordinary; both are found in the rhythm of feeding animals, gathering eggs, or simply standing in the stillness of a summer morning.

Then came the 4th of July. We were sitting together as a family, watching fireworks crackle against the summer sky. The air was warm, the night alive with color, when I felt the first flutter deep in my belly. It caught me off guard gentle, yet unmistakable. On the drive home, I turned to Kelby and told him what I had felt, that I was going to take a test in the morning. He looked startled, maybe even a little speechless, but I could see in his eyes that it all began to make sense, the way I had been feeling, the subtle changes we had both noticed but hadn’t named.

The next morning, that little test confirmed what the animals already seemed to know. Two lines, bright and undeniable, announcing new life that had been quietly growing all along. In that moment, gratitude washed over me not only for the child I carried, but for the mystery of this life I live, where even the animals in our care sometimes shepherd us with their wisdom and tenderness.

I am convinced that animals know things we cannot. They sense storms before they arrive, they comfort when grief lingers, and sometimes, they celebrate new life before we even have words for it. This has been my tender lesson these past months: that the first to rejoice with me in this hidden gift were not people, but the animals who have walked beside me day after day. Their silent celebration continues to remind me to move through this season with wonder and gratitude.

And so, with joy and humility, we share the news that our family will be growing. We are expecting a new little one the first week of March 2026. As the seasons turn and the farm prepares for change, so too do we prepare to welcome new life, a reminder once again of the goodness, mystery, and abundance woven into this place we call home.