Manure Happens: Turning Life’s Messes into Growth

 Although temperatures have finally started going in the right direction, there were a few weeks where it was rather harsh. Winter struck hard as temperatures plummeted. And, of course, that is when all things seem to go wrong. One of our vehicles had to go to the garage for some warranty work. That meant trying to start another one that normally stays buried in the snow over winter. Needless to say, it did not start and disappeared on the back of a tow truck. That simply meant that I would not be going any where for a day or two. In the midst of all of that our hot water tank decided it no longer needed to do what its designed to do. It being the weekend left me few options.

I found myself thinking back to my farming days when these things would happen. I realized I was a tad more relaxed than I would have been back in the day. When things break down on the farm they get dealt with asap.

To put it bluntly, s**t (manure) happens. If you’ve spent any time on a farm, you know that manure is unavoidable. It piles up in the barn, gets tracked on your boots, and somehow always seems to find its way into places it shouldn’t be. But as much as we might complain about it, we also know that manure isn’t just a mess—it’s fertilizer. It nourishes the soil, making way for new growth. And just like on the farm, life has its own way of dumping messes on us. The trick is figuring out how to turn them into something useful.

Manure happens. It’s part of farming, and it’s part of life. No matter how careful you are, there will always be challenges, setbacks, and unexpected hurdles. Instead of fighting against the mess, learn to expect it. Knowing that difficulties are inevitable can help you stay calm when they show up.

On the farm, you don’t clean up manure with your bare hands. You grab a shovel, a pitchfork, or a tractor, depending on the scale of the mess. In life, the same principle applies. When challenges arise, having the right tools—whether it’s knowledge, support from others, or a good sense of humor—can make all the difference in how you handle them.

Anyone who’s worked with livestock knows that if you ignore manure, it only gets worse. The same goes for life’s problems. Ignoring stress, conflict, or responsibilities only leads to bigger messes down the road. The best approach is to deal with things as they come—clean up small problems before they turn into overwhelming ones.

Manure does stink. I remember those days where I worked in the barn all day, cleaned up as best I could, and then went to a social event. I found myself continuously sniffing. Is that manure I smell? Did I miss a spot? But manure can also serve a purpose. Its fertilizer. It helps things grow. Likewise, life’s difficulties, though unpleasant, often lead to growth. Hard times build resilience, failures teach valuable lessons, and struggles shape who we become.

I suspect anyone that farms with livestock would have some funny stories to tell about manure. Let’s be honest—sometimes manure is just plain funny. Farming teaches you to laugh at the messes, because if you didn’t, you’d go crazy. The same is true in life. Finding humor in tough situations doesn’t mean ignoring their seriousness, but it does make them easier to handle. Laughter is a great coping tool, and sometimes, a good joke is exactly what’s needed to get through the stinkiest of times.

At the end of the day, manure happens. It’s messy and it’s frustrating, but it’s also necessary. Whether on the farm or in life, the key is to find ways to turn the mess into something meaningful. Because when you step back and look at the big picture, you’ll see that all those messy moments were actually feeding something bigger—your growth, your strength, and maybe even your next great harvest.

Analysis Paralysis

 I was chatting this week with a colleague who used the term analysis paralysis in reference to the stress created by “unknowns”. Farming has always been a business of uncertainty. Weather, markets, equipment breakdowns—you name it. But lately, there’s been another layer of stress added to the mix: tariffs. These unpredictable trade barriers are making an already challenging industry even harder to navigate. And for many farmers, that’s leading to a frustrating and exhausting condition—analysis paralysis.

When every decision feels fraught with danger, making the right call becomes overwhelming. Should you invest in equipment now, or wait? Should you sell your grain at today’s prices, or hope for a better deal? Should you expand, contract, or hold steady? The stress of tariffs and other external pressures creates a situation where no choice feels like a good one, and instead of moving forward, you find yourself stuck.

This paralysis isn’t just frustrating—it’s debilitating. It’s the fear of making the wrong decision when every option comes with significant risk. And in farming, where profit margins are already razor-thin, even a small misstep can have serious consequences. The unknowns of today and tomorrow—shifting trade policies, changing costs, and unpredictable supply chains—only amplify that stress.

I remember a time when I was still farming, and hog prices had taken a nosedive. Every day, I found myself staring at market reports, trying to predict whether things would improve or get worse. Should I sell now and cut my losses, or hang on and hope for a rebound? Feed costs were rising, bills were stacking up, and I was stuck in a cycle of overthinking. The stress of not knowing what would happen next kept me up at night, and no matter how many scenarios I played out in my head, none of them seemed good.

Looking back, I realize that I wasn’t just weighing options—I was paralyzed by them. Every path felt like a gamble, and the fear of making the wrong decision stopped me from making any decision at all. Eventually, I had to accept that there was no perfect answer. I made a choice, and while it wasn’t easy, at least I was moving forward instead of standing still.

When we’re under constant stress, our ability to make sound decisions suffers. The human brain isn’t wired to operate at peak performance under long-term pressure. Instead, we fall into patterns of overanalyzing, second-guessing, and sometimes avoiding decisions altogether.

This type of stress can also lead to reactive decision-making—choosing the path that seems easiest at the moment rather than the one that aligns with long-term goals. It’s a survival instinct, but in farming, short-term fixes often create long-term problems. When we let stress dictate our choices, we may lock in losses rather than finding opportunities to thrive.

So, what can be done? While we can’t eliminate tariffs or other uncertainties, we can develop strategies to manage stress and move forward with confidence.

1. Focus on What You Can Control – Tariffs and trade policies are outside of your hands, but budgeting, planning, and risk management are not. Taking proactive steps in the areas you can influence helps bring back a sense of control.
2. Seek Trusted Advice – Having a solid support network of fellow farmers, financial advisors, and industry experts can provide much-needed perspective. Sometimes, just talking through a problem with someone else makes the right choice clearer.
3. Set Decision Deadlines – Overanalyzing can keep you stuck indefinitely. Instead of waiting for the “perfect” time, set deadlines for your decisions and commit to moving forward.
4. Take Care of Yourself – Stress management isn’t just about business strategy; it’s about personal well-being. Exercise, rest, and time away from constant decision-making help reset the mind and improve clarity.
5. Accept That There Is No Perfect Decision – Every choice comes with some level of risk. Accepting that reality can help shift your mindset from fear of failure to confidence in adaptability.
6. Reach Out for Professional Support – Sometimes, the weight of uncertainty and stress becomes too much to manage alone. Speaking with a counsellor who understands agriculture, such as those at the Manitoba Farmer Wellness Program, can provide valuable tools and support. Seeking help isn’t a sign of weakness—it’s a way to gain clarity, manage stress, and build resilience.

Farming is tough, and today’s uncertainties make it even tougher. But being stuck in analysis paralysis won’t change the challenges ahead. The key is to acknowledge the stress, manage it, and move forward—one decision at a time.

The Buzz About Teamwork: Lessons from the Hive

 Last weekend, I had the privilege of speaking to a group of Manitoba beekeepers. Like all areas of farming, their industry faces significant challenges, making the conversation around mental well-being especially relevant.

Bees—especially honeybees—are fascinating creatures, and if you ever have the chance to learn about them, I highly recommend it. Their world is full of intricate behaviors and remarkable teamwork. While I could go on about their many incredible traits, I want to focus on one key lesson we can take from them: the power of collaboration.

In a beehive, every bee has a job. Some gather nectar, others tend to the queen, and some guard the entrance. No one bee does it all, but together, they create a thriving, productive hive. In life and work, the same principle applies. Recognizing our strengths—and the strengths of others—makes for stronger teams and better outcomes.

Bees don’t just work side by side; they communicate constantly. Through dances, pheromones, and vibrations, they share information about food sources, threats, and hive health. Without this, chaos would ensue. Whether in business, family, or friendships, clear and open communication keeps things running smoothly and prevents unnecessary misunderstandings.

One bee alone doesn’t make much honey, but thousands working together create enough to sustain the hive and beyond. It’s a reminder that small, consistent efforts—especially when done collaboratively—lead to meaningful results. Whether it’s building a business, tackling a community project, or simply supporting each other, teamwork amplifies our impact.

Bees instinctively defend their hive because they know their strength lies in the colony, not in individual survival. They work together to fight off threats, maintain their home, and ensure the survival of the next generation. In life, protecting our communities—whether family, workplace, or social networks—creates resilience and long-term success.

Of course, collaboration isn’t always smooth. Just like working with others, sometimes you get stung—by disagreements, frustrations, or setbacks. Anyone who has spent time around bees knows that stings are just part of the process. But rather than avoid the hive altogether, beekeepers learn to respect boundaries, stay calm, and keep working toward the greater good. The same applies in life: setbacks and conflicts are inevitable, but they don’t have to derail us. Instead, they can serve as reminders to communicate better, be patient, and stay focused on the bigger picture.

Bees may be hard workers, but they also know the importance of rest. They rotate tasks, take breaks, and work in harmony with nature’s cycles. Burnout doesn’t exist in a well-functioning hive. This is a valuable lesson for us: rest is not a luxury, it’s essential for productivity and well-being.

The end result of all this teamwork? Honey—one of nature’s most perfect and enduring foods. It’s proof that when individuals come together with a shared purpose, they create something far greater than the sum of their parts. Whether on the farm, in the workplace, or in our personal lives, the best things are rarely accomplished alone.

Next time you see a bee buzzing by, take a moment to appreciate the wisdom of the hive. They remind us that true success isn’t about going it alone—it’s about working together, learning from the stings, and building something that lasts.

The Rock That Changed Everything

 There’s a story in The Recovering Farmer about a hidden rock in the road—one that created significant issues. But as it turned out, that rock saved us from something much worse. I won’t give away the whole story here (you’ll have to read the book for that), but let’s just say it taught me a lesson I didn’t see coming: sometimes what trips us up is actually what saves us.

Life, whether on the farm or beyond it, has a way of throwing these unexpected rocks in our path. Some are small stumbles, others feel like full-scale disasters. And in the moment, when you’re flat on your back (or face-first in the mud), it’s hard to see anything but failure, loss, or frustration.

Setbacks hit in different ways. Physically, there’s the exhaustion, the tension in your shoulders, the gut-punch of things not going as planned. Mentally, it’s even heavier. Doubt creeps in. The mind replays every wrong turn. You start questioning if you’ll ever get up again, or if it’s even worth trying.

I’ve been there. More times than I care to count. Farming, finances, family, mental health—life has knocked me down in ways I never saw coming. And in those moments, it felt impossible to believe that anything good could come from the mess.

I have also sometimes heard people say, "What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger." I’ve never fully agreed with that. Sometimes, what doesn’t kill you just leaves you exhausted, broken, or questioning everything. I talk about this in The Recovering Farmer—because the truth is, not every struggle makes us stronger. Some just change us. And maybe that’s the real lesson: strength isn’t about never falling. It’s about figuring out how to stand again, even when you’re not the same as before.

There’s an old saying: When the barn burns down, you can see the sky. I used to think that was just some poetic nonsense. When you're standing in the ashes of what was, it doesn’t feel like a blessing—it feels like loss. But over time, I’ve learned that loss clears space. It forces us to rebuild, to reimagine, to see possibilities we never noticed before.

Every fall I’ve taken—every setback, every so-called failure—has shaped me in ways I never expected. They’ve pushed me toward growth, toward understanding, toward the work I do now. Without them, I wouldn’t be here. And maybe that’s the real lesson: falling isn’t the end. It’s just part of the process.

If you’re feeling like you’ve hit the ground hard, I won’t give you some false promise that everything will magically work out overnight. Getting up takes time. Sometimes it takes help. But I can tell you this—just because you’re down doesn’t mean you’re done.

So take a breath. Look around. And when you’re ready, start looking for the sky.

Laughing Through the Mess

 In my presentations I often emphasize the importance of laughter. And as I experienced, farming, like life, is full of moments that can either break you or make you laugh. Sometimes it does both at the same time. Anyone who has worked in agriculture knows that if you don’t develop a sense of humor, you might not make it through. But humor isn’t just about cracking jokes and swapping stories at the coffee shop—it’s a survival tool, a coping mechanism, and sometimes, a mask for things we don’t always want to talk about.

Anyone who has spent time on a farm has a story that sounds ridiculous to outsiders but makes perfect sense to those who have lived it. The day you get chased by an angry cow, being up to your elbows in something unpleasant (and it’s never just once), or watch your carefully stacked hay bales come crashing down—those are the moments that test your patience and fuel the best stories later on.

Humor takes the sting out of those frustrating, exhausting, and downright absurd moments. Instead of crying over a broken-down tractor in the middle of harvest, you shake your head and say, “Of course it happens now.” Instead of losing your mind when your livestock stage a great escape, you laugh about how they outsmarted you—again. Farming is unpredictable, and if you don’t learn to laugh at the mess, you’ll spend too much time drowning in it.

As much as humor helps lighten the load, it can also be a convenient way to avoid talking about deeper struggles. It’s easier to tell a funny story about how a pig knocked you over than to admit you’re exhausted and running on empty. It’s easier to joke about how “farmers don’t get vacations” than to acknowledge the toll of never taking a break.

In agriculture, there’s an unspoken rule about toughness—keep going, don’t complain, don’t show weakness. And sometimes, humor becomes a way to deflect, to make sure no one asks too many questions. But the truth is, farming can be isolating. The long hours, financial pressures, and unpredictability add up. Laughter can keep us going, but it shouldn’t be the only tool in the box.

There’s power in humor, but there’s also power in honesty. It’s okay to laugh at the absurdities of farming, to trade stories about the disasters that somehow turned out okay. But it’s also okay to admit when the weight of it all feels too much.

If you’re using humor to cope, great—just make sure you’re not using it to cover up something that needs attention. The best thing about farming is the community, the people who understand exactly what you’re going through. And while a joke can bring people together, so can an honest conversation.

Laughter is a gift. It gets us through the toughest days, reminds us not to take everything too seriously, and gives us stories that last a lifetime. But it’s important to remember that humor isn’t a replacement for real conversations. Sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is not just laugh about the mess but talk about it too.

So keep laughing—just don’t be afraid to talk when you need to. Because in farming, as in life, we’re all in this together.

A Super Power

 I've been told that my mental illness has given me a superpower. At first, that felt strange. How could something that brought so much struggle, doubt, and darkness be seen as a gift, let alone a superpower? But over time, I've come to realize that there’s truth in that statement.

Living with mental illness isn’t easy. It’s a battle that often takes place behind closed doors, hidden from the world. The stigma, the fear of judgment, and the weight of societal expectations can make it feel isolating. But somewhere along my journey, I made a choice: to talk about it. To be open. To share the parts of my story that I once felt compelled to hide. And that’s where the superpower comes in.

Openness is transformative. When I wrote The Recovering Farmer, I didn’t set out to be a hero. I simply wanted to tell my story, to put words to experiences that had shaped me in ways both painful and profound. But what I discovered is that vulnerability has a ripple effect. When you speak your truth, you create space for others to do the same. People began reaching out, saying, "I thought I was the only one," or "Your story helped me find the courage to talk about my own struggles." That connection—that shared humanity—is powerful.

Mental illness has given me a deeper sense of empathy. I don’t just hear people’s struggles; I feel them. I understand the language of pain, the weight of invisible burdens, and the courage it takes to simply get through the day. This empathy allows me to connect with others in authentic, meaningful ways. It helps me show up, not with pity, but with genuine understanding and support.

Resilience is another part of this superpower. Living with mental health challenges means facing obstacles that can feel insurmountable. But each time I navigate those dark moments, I discover a strength I didn’t know I had. It’s not the absence of struggle that defines resilience; it’s the decision to keep going, to keep showing up, even when it’s hard.

There’s also a clarity that comes from facing your own mental health head-on. It strips away the superficial and forces you to confront what truly matters. It has taught me to value authenticity over perfection, connection over image, and compassion over judgment. It’s helped me become a better listener, a more present friend, and a more compassionate human being.

In sharing my story, I’ve learned that what feels like weakness can actually be a source of strength. The very thing I once wanted to hide has become the bridge that connects me to others. It’s not about being fearless; it’s about acknowledging the fear and speaking out anyway.

So, yes, my mental illness has given me a superpower. Not because it makes me invincible, but because it has made me real. My perception has shifted. In the past, I might have questioned "why me?" or found myself slipping closer to the abyss. Now, I see my illness as having given me a perspective that brings me a sense of comfort and strength. It taught me the power of vulnerability, the strength in sharing, and the beauty of authentic connection.

If you’re struggling, know this: your story matters. Your voice matters. And sometimes, what feels like your greatest struggle can also be the very thing that helps someone else find their strength.

Supporting Others: Insights from Someone Who’s Been There

One of the questions I’m often asked is how to support someone who’s struggling with their mental health. Honestly, I find it hard to answer because, in my own journey, I’ve been the one needing support. Surely, there are others with the expertise and experience of walking alongside those in need.

And then this week I had a conversation with a friend and colleague Merle Massie, the new Executive Director of DoMoreAg. Merle certainly has the expertise as she has walked with and supported those that have struggled. She gave me 3 points that she has in mind when she finds herself in those situations and they resonated with me. With her permission I want to use them and build my own thoughts around them.

First and foremost, we need to park what we think we know. While this sounds straightforward, in practice, it can be profoundly challenging. I recognize that I carry with me a collection of beliefs and biases—formed through my experiences, shaped by my upbringing, and reinforced along my journey. These perspectives feel natural, even essential, to how I see the world. But should I impose them on others? Absolutely not.

Too often, I find myself realizing—sometimes painfully late—that while my understanding may hold some truth or relevance, it doesn’t always address the unique needs or circumstances of the person I aim to support. My preconceived notions become a barrier rather than a bridge. This not only undermines my ability to help but also prevents me from truly connecting with and understanding others in their own context.

Secondly, we need to activate our of curiosity. In my work, I often encourage people to transform judgment into curiosity, particularly when navigating conflicts. But this principle extends far beyond conflict resolution—it’s just as essential when it comes to supporting others.

Curiosity is a powerful tool. When we approach others with genuine interest and a desire to understand, we open the door to deeper connection and insight. It allows us to see beyond surface-level assumptions, to truly grasp what someone is experiencing or feeling. Through curiosity, we gain the ability to ask thoughtful questions, to listen without interruption, and to appreciate the unique perspectives and struggles of others.

This shift from judgment to curiosity isn’t always easy—it requires intention, humility, and a willingness to let go of our own narratives. But when we choose curiosity, we create space for empathy and understanding to flourish, enabling us to offer the kind of support that truly meets people where they are.

Thirdly, we need to strive to be a flashlight—illuminating the path for those who need help and guiding them where they are, not where we think they should be. Too often, I find myself defaulting to the role of a streetlight, shining brightly in one fixed spot and expecting those who are struggling to find their way to me. It’s a comforting notion to think that simply being available is enough, but in reality, it often isn’t.

This act of meeting someone where they are—of bringing the light to their darkness—requires compassion, patience, and a willingness to step into their world. It’s about being present and intentional, showing that they are not alone and that there’s a way forward, no matter how overwhelming the journey may seem.

I will never forget and will always be thankful for the day a neighbor did all of the above for me. I was in a dark place, not sure if the sun would ever shine for me again. He sat and listened to me that day. There was no judgement, he normalized and validated what I was saying and by doing that shone his flashlight on the path in front of me giving me the ability to move forward. I know it works. It may work for you as well. Make it a good one.