13/11/2025
Loss inside a barn community hits in a completely different way because our people weave themselves into the rhythm of the place. You do not just lose someone. The land loses a footstep. The horses lose a familiar voice in the air. The kids lose a gentle presence in their orbit. A barn dad is not a small thing.
I never once imagined I would write something like this. Our barn has weathered a lot of storms together, but we have never lost a parent in our little herd. I did not realize how unprepared I was for the kind of unfamiliar ache it brings to the energy of the barn.
Dr. James Hammel is someone we will never forget. From the moment he stepped foot on this farm, he became the barn's instant bestie and I heard more than once, “He's our Dad now.”
He had this colorful wool poncho he wore in the winter and he always looked so warm and cozy in it. He and his beautiful and kind fiancé would stroll the property together during lessons like they were taking in something sacred.
Every time he arrived he carried this expression of wonder like a child, as if he was seeing the place for the first time. He poured out compliment after compliment about Athena and Martti and the work they put into every lesson. He always told us how rare this place is and how grateful he was to have found it. He meant every word.
Processing this has felt unfamiliar and heavy and quiet. Barns are living things made of people and stories and small shared moments. When someone like Dr. Hammel becomes part of that story, even for a short time, their absence leaves a space you can feel.
We will miss his kindness. His warmth. His encouragement. His presence on this farm. He has helped so many patients find their way. He was very loved by so many.
Please hold his daughter and his fiancé in your hearts. And if you knew him, even for a moment, you knew what kind of light he carried.
And please, please, please know you are not alone. We need you here with us and we love you. If you need help, memorize this number and call 988.
