Natural Beginnings at Golden Oaks Homestead

04/27/2026

ATTENTION: MPCA Extends Comment Deadline to May 7 The Minnesota Pollution Control Agency (MPCA) has extended the public comment period…

04/20/2026

04/16/2026

16 bushel of beans covers this man’s expenses….that means a lot in the farming world. ❤️‍🔥

04/15/2026

Farm equipment companies are whining because farmers didn't give them the bailout money they got... Yet the equipment manufacturers are a main cause of why farmers needed it in the first place

04/15/2026

The eighth commandment is one of those that sounds so simple you almost want to skim right past it.

“You shall not steal.” Exodus 20:15.

And immediately our brains go, okay perfect, I am not out here breaking into barns at midnight or loading up someone else’s calves like it is a clearance sale, so I think I am doing pretty great on this one. Gold star. Next commandment please.

Except…not so fast.

Because stealing is not always that dramatic, caught on camera, everyone gasp kind of moment. Most of the time it is quieter than that. Sneakier than that. It is the kind of thing we do and then immediately justify because it does not feel big enough to count.

It is taking credit for something that was not really yours and then standing there like, well I technically helped, so this is fine. It is cutting corners when nobody is watching and calling it efficiency. It is “borrowing” something and then conveniently forgetting that returning it was part of the deal. It is using time you were trusted with for something else entirely and hoping nobody notices because you were still technically present.

And then there are the things that are not even physical.

Taking someone’s time like it is unlimited. Taking advantage of someone’s kindness because you know they are not going to call you out. Taking trust and then not handling it carefully. Taking opportunities and acting like you earned all of it when in reality a lot of it was handed to you and you just ran with it.

We get very creative.

We draw this nice, bold line around the big obvious stuff and go, well I do not do that, so I am fine, while quietly stepping over a dozen smaller lines like it is part of the daily routine.

But God is not just looking at the big moments where it is obvious. He is looking at the pattern.
He is looking at the heart behind how you handle what you have been given. At the end of the day, this commandment is not just about stuff.

It is about integrity.

It is about whether you are the same person when nobody is watching as you are when everyone is. It is about whether you do the right thing because it is right, or because someone might notice if you do not.

Like if I leave a gate open and calves get out, I cannot stand there with my arms crossed and go, well technically I did not steal anything, so I think we are good here. No. I was trusted with something and I did not handle it well. That is on me. And the calves will absolutely make sure I remember that decision for the rest of the day.

Same idea applies everywhere else.

You can technically never steal anything obvious and still live in a way that lacks integrity.

You can still take shortcuts, take advantage, take what benefits you in the moment, and call it fine because it is not “that bad.”

And God is over here saying, I am calling you higher than that, not just do not take what is not yours.

Be someone who can be trusted with what is.

Because a life built on integrity is a whole lot more solid than one built on constantly trying to get away with just enough to not get caught.

And honestly, it is a whole lot less stressful than living like a calf that just got out and is now running full speed with no plan, hoping nobody noticed, while you are already halfway across the yard trying to fix what should have never been an issue in the first place.

04/04/2026

GILMAN, Wis. — Last August, Tristan Swartz faced a defining moment: a near brush with death from which he cannot explain how he survived. That moment changed his outlook on life and catalyzed him …

03/20/2026

Wonderful!

11/20/2025

Too cute 🥰

Hello.
It is I.
The Jersey Cinnamon Roll.
The icon of the barn.
The drama queen the universe feared creating.

Wrapped — no, enthroned — in my black gangster blanket, which makes me look like I’m about to demand tribute from neighboring pens. I glide beneath this blanket with the energy of a baby mafia boss who knows she runs the world.

And today, I bring you a report so tragic, so harrowing, so emotionally devastating that even my blanket struggled to stay on my body:

My bottle was one minute and thirty seconds late.

Yes.

*Late.*

***Ninety*** criminal seconds.

Seconds during which I, a fragile blossom of dairy magnificence, was left to face the cold abyss of hunger with nothing but my gangster blanket and my will to survive.

At the exact moment breakfast was due, I rose from my bedding like a small, elegant mob boss preparing to negotiate terms. My blanket draped across me like royalty. My ears perfectly positioned. My face radiating innocence and expectations.

But the bottle did not come.

At fifteen seconds late, I narrowed my eyes and squinted into the distance as if that alone would summon her. I assumed my human had tripped over her own feet as she does every third Thursday of existence.

At thirty seconds late, I whispered dramatically to the shadows, “So this is how betrayal feels.”

At forty-five seconds, I repositioned my blanket into more of a dramatic cape and stared toward the barn door like a calf contemplating the end of days. I made sure my expression said: fragile yet devastatingly beautiful.

At one minute late, I began planning my funeral. Not just contemplating it—actively designing it. I imagined slow-motion wind blowing through my fuzzy coat as somber music played. My gangster blanket would be draped over a milk bottle like a fallen hero’s flag. Sparrows would gather. Cows would lower their heads. My human would collapse in guilt, weeping: “If only I had been on time!”

At one minute fifteen seconds, my tummy growled with the dramatic force of a thousand thunderclouds. I flinched. A single tear (internally) fell.

At one minute and thirty seconds, I began reciting my own eulogy. In my head, the words rang out over the silent barn: "She lived passionately. She suffered beautifully. She was denied breakfast for precisely ninety seconds, and though she fought valiantly, her tiny heart simply could not bear it.”

I was ready to collapse into my blanket like a fainting Victorian socialite when suddenly—

**She arrived.**

My human burst in looking like she’d wrestled a tornado in the parking lot. Messy hair semi-contained under a baseball cap and smelling like three different energy drinks arguing about custody. She gasped, “Sorry! I’m running behind!”

Behind?
BEHIND??

Ma’am, I have aged ten emotional years.

I took that bottle with the icy grace of someone who has known deep betrayal. I drank like a calf reclaiming her birthright. I glared between gulps. I made sure she felt the weight of my suffering.

And then—because she scratched that perfect spot under my chin—I forgave her instantly. I am weak. I am soft. I am powered by milk and affection. My gangster blanket does nothing to prevent this.

Make no mistake: this ordeal will be remembered. It will be written in calf lore. Generations will speak of the Day of the Late Bottle and the cinnamon roll who survived it with unbelievable beauty and astonishing melodrama.

---

**Cinnamon Roll, signing out.**
Draped in my gangster blanket.
Glorious. Dramatic. Wronged.
And still judging my human’s punctuality.

11/05/2025