Life lessons from one year of living on a farm

In my happy place, observing the animals on the farm

Disclosure: This article was originally published on 3 November 2025 at https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/life-lessons-from-one-year-living-farm-sieske-valk-we50e/?trackingId=oGqRd0I5REq9qnIPohGDBQ%3D%3D

This week, it’s been a year since we moved into a converted barn on a working farm in beautiful Devon. Seeking a quieter life outside of London, and a steady income through employment as a welcome break to the incessant grind of entrepreneurism, we packed up our one-bed flat and drove to the Southwest of England. Actually, the removal people drove, and Lewis and I took the train.

Moving from the middle of Peckham to the middle of nowhere has had its intended effects, and both Lewis and I are much happier people for it, in addition to learning some great life lessons. 

1. Nothing is permanent

Acknowledging the impermanence of it all helps to remember to live life now. Whether it’s witnessing a hawk kill a pigeon in front of our door by slowly eating its innards while the pigeon still frantically flaps around, or seeing a calf being born less than 24 hours later, or re-entering the job market once again. These events have all made me realise that nothing in nature and life is permanent. Not even the life of the cat, I have spent a large chunk of my adult life with. Death might be the only exception.

Rather than holding on to practices we enjoyed doing together until quite recently, which were beneficial to his longevity, I have given Lewis back his agency to spend his old age as he wishes, whether that’s in activity or in rest. I’m waiting for the time he asks to go outside and wander around the farm, rather than taking him outside even when he’s not really up for it. Instead, we bond while he is resting on his many comfy beds next to radiators by giving him a massage or cuddling up under a heated throw blanket.

I also won’t put him through invasive checks anymore, but focus on keeping him comfortable, dignified and happy. 

The dial has turned from palliative to hospice care, from fighting and treating a disease to accepting the inevitable outcome and mitigating the discomfort that comes with it - and that’s okay. 

2. A calm nervous system improves decision-making

When Jamie and I decided to leave London in late 2023, I spent a year looking for work. Anybody who has tried finding a job in the current climate knows that it is a full-time job on its own. At the same time, I ran a dog walking business, the Autumn Animals hospice clinic, and I was the freelance PA to a partner in a large firm. I was spread thin, and I just wanted to leave the city and find 9-5 employment and would just about take any job.

I ran around, applying to jobs like a headless chicken, getting a few interviews, whilst also trying to pay the bills and support clients through challenging, grief-consumed periods of their lives. Needless to say, I wasn’t able to make it work and eventually decided to just move without the prospect of a job. Funny enough, an opportunity was sent my way shortly after.

When I re-entered the job market again this summer, my nervous system had had an overhaul: I had space around me, some savings put away, and I was satisfied with life in general. Rather than applying to any job I could find, I decided to take a step back and reflect on what I learned and needed. But most of all, what I really wanted to do next. 

With the help of my coach at Purple Advantage, I was able to discern my short- and long-term goals, how those relate to my psychological and financial needs, and set up a plan to work towards them. I have faith that I’ll get there, eventually, because I have an inner compass that has been recalibrated. Every decision I have made in the past few months has been guided by this compass and the inner fire it has ignited. I sometimes wobble and hit ‘Easy Apply’ on LinkedIn Jobs 20 times, but then I re-centre again, and know what I actually need to do.

This makes me wonder how we can support our fellow stressed caregivers of companion animals going through the palliative or hospice phase of their pets’ lives. What more can we do, in addition to giving them information about the medical condition of their pet, the prognosis and costs? Would asking a simple, compassionate ‘How are you coping with this all’ be sufficient? 

Or should we perhaps suggest a wonderful pet sitter we have worked with before (or ourselves), when we notice a client being in desperate need of respite? 

Perhaps we should offer a client a veterinary social work consultation immediately after the diagnosis consultation. Or have one of the veterinary nurses follow up with a phone call the next day to check in with the family and ask whether they would like to go through a Quality of Life assessment together.

How can we harness our network of palliative care practitioners and support to calm a family’s nervous system?

I believe that with a bit of space to let things sink in, adequate support in place, and some slowing down, people are able to make better-informed decisions, even if those decisions might be the hardest thing to do.

My favourite place to walk to - and show visitors - overlooks the farm and Exe estuary: a place to clear my head

3. Be content with what is

Somewhere along the way, I had started believing that I, as a person and what I was capable of wasn’t good enough. I didn’t realise it until I returned to London for a few days at the start of 2025 and spent a long tube-journey observing perfectly coiffed people, and contoured faces similar to Bob Ross’s artistry, on their commute, sitting under an advertisement for easy-accessible aesthetic treatments. I quickly started wondering whether I should splurge on preventative treatments. 

Then I returned to Devon and observed smile lines, sun frowns, bare skin with age spots, stubby fingernails with soil under them and salty, bleached hair. Happy, comfortable faces. 

I was able to let go of my ideas around perfection and just enjoy where I was, and with whom I was. I was also able to let go of my drive to prove my worth to others and make life choices based on what I want to do.

Lewis used to be a strong 5kg boy with glowing, silky white fur and piercing green eyes. His manes were his pride, and his personal hygiene routine was immaculate. He was always told he was such a handsome boy, and I always felt the urge to tell people he was also a very sweet cat. Currently, his beard drips with meat juice after he has eaten, his face is covered with old bits of food, he has a dodgy ear that droops when it’s gunky, and he has a hygiene trim on his backside that looks funny. Due to saliva discolouration of the fur, his paws and the corners of his mouth look like he smokes rollies all day.

I try my best to clean him up twice daily, using wet wipes and occasionally bathing him. He loves to be blow-dried and brushed, so that helps the process. But in the end, he’ll never look and smell as clean and glorious as he did when he was young. But having him with me is enough. He is enough. He is still the same majestic creature he was when I got him 17 years ago, just weighing a little less in kilos, but more in experience. And if it’s possible, he’s even sweeter than when he was a youngster.

Stopping the fight against ageing, but rather focusing on ageing well and savouring the wisdom and softer edges that come with it, and facilitating the same for Lewis, has been a relief. I appreciate the little time we have left together. 

Being able to age, be wiser, more grounded and witnessing ups and downs is a privilege. Even if it does mean sometimes looking a bit dishevelled after a really good nap. 

These three lessons have done wonders for my quality of life - and that of Lewis the Cat. I wonder if you have any important life lessons you’d like to share that could help us, and our furry, feathered and scaly friends?

Sies.

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About me

My name is Sieske Valk (pronounced as Sees-kuh Falk). I started my career as a veterinary nurse in the Netherlands. After a short stint working as a climate change researcher, I set up an animal care company in London, called Sies Petcare. This grew into Autumn Animals, the UK’s first holistic palliative and hospice care organisation. Trained as an end-of-life doula for companion animals, I have supported numerous families through the autumn of their furry friend’s life, and after. 

I currently offer virtual coaching for families who need support with their ageing or chronically ill pets (similar to Occupational Therapy for ageing and ill humans), and free pet bereavement support. I also offer research + consultancy services for veterinary businesses wanting to improve their palliative and hospice services. 

If you’d like to have a chat about these services and how they can help you or someone you know, go to www.calendly.com/autumnanimals or autumnanimals.com. I live with Lewis the Cat (18) and husband Jamie, in beautiful Devon.