Lately more than ever it's back and forth between farm and city. Back and forth. Forever.

Leaving baby lambs is difficult. I called Eric tonight. I hear in his voice right away when something is wrong, even if he saves the information until after we gone through the typical formalities of hello, how are you...our first born lamb, named Butters, has lost a horn today. A bloody mess. She's a big girl, likely 30 pounds now. She's a single so she's getting all of her mamas milk without having to share. Sounds nice. Makes for a fat lamb.

He fixed her up, ripped it the rest of the way off and treated with iodine and fly strike. Says she's eating and running around tonight. Every shepherd tells me: sheep are masters at finding ways to sucicide; she likely got her horns stuck in a cattle panel fence and ripped her way free. So we know it could have been worse.

But I've been in the city for a few days -- I have to think hard to remember how many -- 4? working on back to back big events. I have not been good about documenting any of them, but they happen all around me, a swirl of interns and staff and flowers and trucks packed and unloaded, wine, half fast emails and boxes of arugula eaten at the counter at night before crawling to bed with a glass of water and a head full of intensions for the early morning when I regain focus.

I don't take my phone to bed anymore. I don't like looking at.

Or I'm afraid I'll sleep-text old bosses or boyfriends.