There’s a rhythm to life on the homestead, one that moves with the seasons, the harvests, and the lives we tend—both big and small. Some days are about growth and abundance, while others bring loss and lessons I never expected to learn. Today, my heart feels heavy as I say goodbye to Frogida the Brave.

Frogida came into my life as part of a trio, joining Frogsley, my daughter’s first frog (and the grand frog of them all), and Ophrah Frogfrey—who, despite my best assumptions, turned out to be a boy. That, as I’ve learned, is not an ideal situation when you have two males and one female. I feel the weight of that mistake now, a creeping guilt that I didn’t know better. But the thing is, she was doing so well… until she wasn’t.

I tried to save her. I watched closely, I worried, I did what I could. And yet, nature has its own way of unfolding, sometimes outside of my hands, despite my best efforts. That’s the hardest part of homesteading, isn’t it? The helplessness that sneaks in when you think you’ve done enough. The ache of trying and still losing.

Frogida was small but mighty. She was brave. She had a spark that made her more than just another little creature in my care—she was a presence. And now, she’s a lesson I’ll carry forward.

There’s something about homesteading that forces you to sit with your feelings, to reflect on the choices you make and the lives you nurture. Sometimes, that reflection stings. But in the quiet moments, in the spaces between chores and seasons, there’s a kind of peace in knowing that we do our best, we love deeply, and we honor the ones we’ve lost by learning from them.

Rest easy, Frogida the Brave.