Gran Ethel
Did you catch her? I saw her heading your way on the cameras.
I snap a photo without thinking—me, disheveled and annoyed, holding Baabara’s collar while she mugs for the camera. I manage to show the sheep poop still clinging to my boot. My hair is falling out of its clip. There’s a smear of mud across my cheek.
I send it to Gran with the caption: Got her and her revenge doody
Then, on impulse, I post it to my social media accounts. No filter, no editing, no strategy. Just a sweaty, annoyed, poop-covered woman holding a smug sheep.
When your neighbor’s woolly menace escapes AGAIN and poops at you on purpose. Farm life, baby.
I deliver Baabara to Gran, accept her offer of lemonade and sympathy, and don’t check my phone until I’m at Pierce Acres, showered, changed, and significantly less fragrant.
When I do check, I nearly drop my phone. The sheep poop post has 3,000 views and climbing. The comments are flooding in:
“woolly menace” is killing me
Revenge poop! LOL
ok but the sheep’s face?? she knows what she did
MORE BAABARA RITENAO
Something clicks in my brain. This messy, unplanned, genuinely ridiculous reality of my life is interesting to people.
Esther’s voice echoes in my head: “Playing farmer is fun for a visit.” Maybe I’m not playing. Maybe I’m being real for once.
I poke through my other Fork Lick posts I’ve been throwing up whenever I grab reception, almost as an afterthought.
There are a few videos of me and Baabara, as well as a photo series of the maple gear, rusted and beautiful against the spring sunshine. There’s a video of me trying to figure out what all the mysterious tapping tools are for. And they’re all going viral.
@sweettoothsally: I would watch an entire series about this woman learning to make maple syrup
@maplelover_vt: The sheep video has me CRYING.
@cottagecore_dreams: okay but the grumpy neighbor she keeps mentioning?? i need to see him
@homesteadhannah: This feels so real. Can I go to Fork Lick? Road trip!
I scroll through comment after comment, my hands shaking slightly. People are tagging their friends. Sharing the posts. Asking for more content about Fork Lick, about the maple grove, about the “cast of small-town characters.”
Someone even made a compilation of all my Fork Lick content, and it has fifty thousand views. People aren’t just liking these posts. They’re connecting with them. I tapped into something magical today.
I click on the analytics, expecting the same predictable results. But… These numbers are spectacular. The engagement is through the roof, and I have new followers pouring in—not bots. Real, actual people from all over… not just western PA.
I sit back in my chair, coffee forgotten, staring at my screen.
Until I got here, I was creating content for other people’s dreams. Eden’s bees. Esther’s bar. Eliza’s goat business. I am good at it because I love my sisters and I want them to succeed.
But this—Fork Lick, Pierce Acres, this accidental documentation of my chaotic inheritance—this is mine. And people want to hear it.
I did not expect that.
Today is like the confluence of June’s dreams, my work, and sheep magic. I’m still in a daze, responding to comments and checking DMs. There are partnership inquiries from two maple syrup brands and a boutique outdoor clothing company.
Someone knocks on my door.
I know it’s him before I even get up. There’s something about the knock itself, like even his knuckles are grumpy. I open the door, and there’s Asher, balanced on his crutches, looking deeply uncomfortable.
