What happened on that summer day back in 2001? I’ll tell you. A letter arrived from the Special Handling Unit in Quebec and changed the way I thought about “public” and “private” forever.

Once upon a time (or more specifically, in 2001), my. little family and I lived in half of a white, clapboard house down a pretty little side street in a small town on the banks of the St. John River. It was an idyllic little town, peaceful, pretty and bubbling with the blend of history, benign eccentricity and pastoral views in which the Maritime provinces in particular seem to specialize.

One day, I brought home the mail and in it found a hand-written letter with an envelope festooned with many stamps. The name on the return address stopped my heart.

A. Legere.

For those of you who don’t remember this name, Allan Legere is a rapist, arsonist and serial killer – the Butcher of the Miramichi — who terrorized New Brunswick in the late 80s. My husband, a reporter for a provincial daily, had written a story about him and, as the letter made abundantly clear, Mr. Legere took issue.

This was one of those moments when the tissue-thin membrane between private and public first broke for me. My husband was doing a job I was (and remain) very proud of — I believe most sincerely in the nobility of good journalism — but sometimes, his work and my peace of mind came into direct conflict. With two babies at home, getting a letter forwarded from the newsroom from such a horrifying human was just such an occasion. This was well before social media, way before the internet was a household convenience, smart phones weren’t even a glimmer in Steve Jobs’ eye. But standing in the glassed-in porch of our home, something turned over in my head and for me, ever since that moment, I have been vigilant about what I share in public spaces and what I don’t.

I hope that most of you have given this some thought and that it didn’t take a letter from a serial killer to do it.

Now that I do this work, I have taken a lot of time to come up with some clear guidelines that help to direct my engagement. Now rest assured, I don’t think most people are anything like Legere. But at the same time, figuring out what your approach to social media is going to be is a good thing to get squared away before you start any new enterprise. Here are some of my top suggestions, ideas and considerations!

1. The ecosystem is crowded. Prioritize real relationships.

The digital ecosystem is saturated. Everyone is broadcasting. Everyone is branding.

If you can, prioritize in-person relationships. Go to the grazing club meeting, attend the mill’s open house, host the shearing day, participate in the panel and sit at the kitchen table.

Those relationships will be ballast in your boat. They provide perspective when a comment section spins out or an algorithm buries your work. A shared potluck with meaningful conversations carries more weight than a hundred likes.

2. Say what you mean. Don’t manipulate.

No one healthy wants to feel emotionally steered.

If you are selling, say so.
If you are fundraising, say so.
If it is a sad story, keep it clean and proportionate. (Maybe include a warning about the content for people to make the mental adjustment that may be required.)

Do not bury sales pitches inside long emotional posts, don’t use guilt as a marketing tool. Absolutely do not weaponize vulnerability.

Farming already carries enough real drama — weather, markets, lambing season — without manufacturing more.

Remember, clarity builds trust but even the whiff of manipulation will erode it.

3. Livestock content will trigger people.

Animals make for big feelings. Predation, shearing, euthanasia, breeding decisions guardian dogs. Even something as simple as a lamb being restrained for tagging can raise eyebrows if people are so inclined.

Your 30-second clip will be viewed by confirmed urbanites, ranch kids, fibre artists, wildlife advocates, anti-ranch activists, and casual scrollers — all at once.

Remember, context and nuance collapse online. The majority of people watching have no idea about you, your work, your values or your particular situation. That won’t stop them commenting.

So remember, curiosity deserves education but combativeness deserves silence.

You are not required to host a referendum on your husbandry choices.

4. Do not crowdsource animal health decisions.

When something is wrong with a sheep, a horse, or a guardian dog, the internet will offer certainty in all directions. You’ll get home remedies, moral judgments, urgent instructions and conspiracy theories and while livestock work requires steadiness, social media amplifies urgency and rewards crisis.

So stick to your processes. Consult your veterinarian, make your decisions and share later — if you choose to — once you are regulated and clear.

Crisis is not content.

5. Be careful about who appears in your work.

Sharing other people requires thought.

Whether it’s children, spouses, extended family, hired help or even neighbours who wander into a fence-line photo.

Your job is not their job. They didn’t sign up for the life you’ve decided to put online.

Good social media hygiene protects the people you love.

6. Respect your own privacy.

Not every hard day needs to be shared in real time.

Losses happen on farms. Financial strain happens, marital strain layered into farm strain happens. Animals die. Plans fail. Weather turns.

There is pressure online to narrate these things as they unfold, to monetize vulnerability and “bring people along.” I can’t say this enough — you don’t have to excavate your own pain for public consumption and grief deserves to be processed before publishing (if you decide you must publish.)

Keep some elements of farm life private and for you alone. Protect the sacred parts. If everything becomes content, nothing remains holy.

7. You do not owe your audience full access.

There are people who watch quietly. Some will never engage, never comment, never subscribe.

That’s fine but access is not the same as entitlement.

Your newsletter subscribers, your customers, your in-person community — those relationships are mutual, there’s a two-way stream of connection. A casual scroller is not the same thing as a committed reader. It’s important to scale your interaction with the audience that’s engaging. Calibrate your availability/vulnerability/access to the degree of reciprocity/investment in that particular group.

8. Do not feed anonymous or bad-faith accounts.

If someone has no engagement history, no identifiable presence, or is clearly spoiling for a fight, disengage. I never respond to anything that doesn’t have a name I can track. I have no respect for “Anonymous” posts.

Remember, not everything on the web is human — bots abound. Sometimes it is not a person. Sometimes it is a pile-on. Sometimes engagement just throws you into a bag of cats. You do not need to step into every room where your name is mentioned.

9. Algorithms reward extremes. Farming requires moderation.

The internet loves outrage, certainty, crisis framing but regenerative grazing is slow. Soil health is incremental and wool infrastructure is policy-heavy and complex. Most of farming is nuanced.

While you may be tempted to sharpen your tone to compete, resist.

Steadiness is not boring.

10. Know what you are using social media for.

Sales?
Education?
Event promotion?
Policy influence?
Community building?

If you do not decide its purpose, the platform will decide for you and the platform’s goals are not aligned with land health, animal welfare, or long-term community resilience.

A website is a home base. A newsletter is a direct line but social media is a rented room.

Act accordingly.

11. Take breaks.

Step away every year.

Tell people in advance. Offer alternate contact routes. Then close the apps.

The farm will still need chores. The sheep will still chew their cud. The grass will still grow — or not — depending on rain.

You will come back steadier.

Final thoughts

There is a difference between visibility and rootedness. Wendell Berry also wrote, “It all turns on affection.”

Affection for land.
Affection for animals.
Affection for neighbour.

If your use of social media begins to erode that affection — for yourself, the work or for others — something is out of alignment. We must never forget that social media is just a tool. But the land? The land is not.

The land is the work.

Don’t lose sight of the work because you’re too focused on the tool.

This is a Living post, a post to share my thought processes, my experience and the philosophy that underpins our activities here at the homestead. It is not a how-to, “expert advice” or meant to reflect a wider experience than just my own, on my farm, here with my sheep.