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The 3 Biggest Lessons I’ve Learned as an Entrepreneur
by Lisa, Oak Spring Farm
20633 Mount Zion Rd
Freeland, MD
Last month we had some crazy cold weather. Unprecedented actually.
Listen, I’m no stranger to real cold. I grew up in Central NY. It could snow a solid inch just while we waited for the bus. The snow plow made drifts big enough for us to dig snow caves with standing room. I remember one Christmas morning it was 40 below zero with the wind chill. We walked next door to my Aunt Marie’s and the little hairs in my nostrils froze.
So last month, after a few nights of single-degree temperatures everything was frozen solid. Hoses that weren’t emptied properly snapped and broke when handled roughly. Plastic hose nozzles shattered. Pipes burst inside and outside the house.
The pump for the water softener started pumping nonstop. Nobody had the water on so it meant one thing. Burst pipe.
I called the plumber. I was not the only one.
Now I’m not super handy but I can figure out a thing or two. I had turned off the water coming into the house but couldn’t figure out how to cut off that specific line. My 1903 farmhouse—with two additions and multiple remodels over the years—has a conglomeration of plumbing styles, hoses that lead nowhere, and pipes that don’t always make sense. The plumber came, assessed, and put a new valve on the water line heading into the crawl space. They had broken pipes and two other homes ahead of me. All they could do was stop the water from gushing. It took 2 people and three different trips to finally fix the burst pipes.
And in that time, my mind spun: I have to upgrade the plumbing. I have to fix all the leaky valves. I need heat tape, insulation…
It felt overwhelming. All of it. The frozen fingers, frozen crops, the propane bill, the packed icy snow on the driveway. And then the furnace stopped working. I have to…do this and that and this….
Or not.
Lesson #1
Everything is a choice.
It occurred to me that I could just throw my hands up in the air and go to Mexico. That is always an option. I have a passport. I know how to buy a ticket. I could leave it all behind, drink tequila on the beach, and forget about frozen pipes, broken valves, and winter CSA prep.
Would I? Probably not.
But it is incredibly helpful for me to remember that everything is a choice. Even when we trick ourselves into believing it isn’t. It is. Now it may appear to be a choice that, in good conscience, MUST be made, but, my friend, it is a choice.
Because nobody is going to do it for me.
Lesson # 2
Nobody is going to do it for me
If I left, the farm wouldn’t keep itself running. The CSA wouldn’t magically continue. Customers wouldn’t get their winter shares. The animals wouldn’t feed themselves. The fields wouldn’t prep themselves for spring. Oh and then there are these 3 kids. One of whom is still in high school.
Nobody was going to get my pipes fixed but me. And nobody was going to take responsibility for my farm but me.
That’s the reality of entrepreneurship. And small-scale family farming. And home ownership.
For years, I’ve had these moments—the ones where I’ve felt completely sorry for myself. The ones where I’ve wanted to throw my hands up and quit. Mostly they are just moments. Flashes in a pan.
Like the time someone left the chicken coop door open, and a coyote wiped out almost my entire flock in one night.
Or the time a weasel sneaked in, picking off one or two birds each night, while we scrambled to figure out how it was getting in.
Or the time the wind ripped off the row covers the night before a freeze, destroying entire beds of lettuce and baby greens.
It feels desperate. Like it shouldn’t be happening. Like it’s only happening to me and I’m doing something wrong.
But here’s the thing.
Lesson #3
I signed up for this.
Nobody forced me to farm. Nobody made me build a business that relies on weather, livestock, and the unpredictable nature of nature itself. I chose this. Just like I chose to call the plumber. Just like I choose, over and over again, to get up, fix what’s broken, and keep going.
Because at the end of the day, this life—the one I’ve built—is the one I love.
So yeah, I could go to Mexico. But I’d probably just be sitting on that beach thinking about the next season, the next planting, the next challenge.
Because this? This is the life I chose.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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