Life on the farm looks different with pulmonary fibrosis

When my husband and I decided to move to a small farm, we imagined early mornings feeding chickens, tending the garden together, and watching cattle graze in the distance. It wasn’t simply a place to live. It was the life we had dreamed of building.

No one imagines that one day their own body will become the biggest obstacle to living the life they dreamed of.

Before pulmonary fibrosis, I was happiest when my days began outdoors. I helped my husband care for the cattle, checked that there was plenty of hay, and gathered fresh eggs from the chicken coop each morning. My daughter and I spent hours tending to our vegetable garden, celebrating every basket we carried back to the house.

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Fresh tomatoes from Ann Reynoso’s garden. (Photo by Ann Reynoso)

In the evenings, I loved sitting on our back porch listening to the chickens settle in for the night and then waking up to the rooster’s announcement of a new day.

I love the smell of fresh hay, the earth after a good rain, and the chicken coop. Some people wrinkle their noses at those scents, but to me, they’re home. They were the smells of a life I loved, never imagining they would one day become the very things I would be told to avoid.

Then my lungs began telling a different story. What began as a cough and shortness of breath turned out to be pulmonary fibrosis.

I was told I could no longer help with the farm chores. My pulmonology team explained that hypersensitivity pneumonitis, often caused by exposure to mold spores, dust, bird droppings, and other farm irritants, could further damage my lungs.

A mama cow and her baby graze on Ann Reynoso’s farm. (Photo by Ann Reynoso)

Their advice made perfect medical sense. My heart, however, wasn’t ready to let go of the life my hands had always known.

We built this little farm together. Now I watch the people I love care for the life we created, while I cheer them on from the porch.

There are days when watching from the porch is harder than any chore I ever did. I miss the work, the routine, and the independence that came with it. I never imagined that the hardest part of this disease wouldn’t be losing strength, but learning to let others carry what I once could.

Pulmonary fibrosis has changed the way I care for our little farm, but it has never changed the love I have for it. I may no longer carry feed buckets or gather eggs every morning, but I still celebrate each new calf, every basket of vegetables, every sunrise over our pasture, and every flower that blooms in our garden.

I have learned that loving this life isn’t measured by how much work I can do. Sometimes love simply means being present enough to watch what you planted continue to grow.

Note: Pulmonary Fibrosis News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Pulmonary Fibrosis News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to pulmonary fibrosis.