I Love Sharing My Farm—Except When I'm Closed

I'm angry.  And I get angrier every time this happens.  Because it keeps happening - regardless of what I do to prevent it.

I am a farmer. I am a woman in my 60s. I live alone in rural Prince Edward Island. I open my home and my farm to the public six days a week. I welcome thousands of visitors every year to meet my alpacas, explore my farm, and shop in my store. I do this gladly—because I love it.  I love sharing with others who are as interested and passionate about these animals as I am.

But I also live on this farm.

My house is just steps from the barns and the alpacas. So when you come here, you’re not just entering a business. You’re entering my home. My sanctuary. My only safe place.

At the end of each day, I flip a large “CLOSED” sign at the end of my 200-foot driveway. I drag a bright white barricade across the drive too. I even installed motion-sensor cameras—not because I’m paranoid, but because I’ve learned I need them.

I do all this just so I can run errands, make dinner, catch up on orders—or breathe—in peace.

But time and time again—hundreds of times since I started this farm, and more than a dozen times already this season—people ignore every sign, every boundary, and walk right in.

This Weekend? Two More Times.

Last night, I closed up as usual at 5pm.  I quickly changed into clean(er) clothes and headed to the local Co-op.  I was out of milk and bread and they closed at six. 

At 5:55pm, my phone rang. A man said he was at my farm; he’d driven over an hour and couldn't wait to see my animals. He knew I was closed—but could I “open my heart and my home” anyway?  He'd driven so far, you know.

When I said the farm was closed, he pressed, “Will you be home soon?”

Today is Sunday—my only official day off. I did my morning chores as usual and decided to head out for the day.  The closed sign was up and I dragged the barricade across the drive. I left hoping for a few quiet hours away—just a little breathing room after a long week. Then my phone pinged: motion detected.

DAMN IT, I cursed... 'cuz I knew exactly why my phone was alerting.

Two strangers had walked up my driveway—past the CLOSED sign, around the barricade, and into my backyard. Just wandering freely without a care in the world.

I opened my security cam's live feed. Using the two-way audio I asked them why they were on my private property, the man replied, “I was just wondering if you were open.”

(Yep, after all that, he still wasn't sure)

This Isn’t About Confusion

This is not about poor signage. This is not about honest mistakes. This is about a pattern of entitlement and disrespect.

I live in one of the safest places in the world—that is it seems, until tourist season arrives.

Then, suddenly, my home becomes a playground for strangers. People treat my home and livelihood like a roadside attraction and act as if basic rules of respect and privacy don’t apply.  I'm somehow not worthy of the same privacy and consideration they would demand in their own backyards.

Here’s the Hardest Thing to Say

I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel free to leave my home. I feel trapped by the very people I’ve built this life to welcome... and, I feel violated.

To the countless kind, respectful, and thoughtful guests who honour our hours and our space—thank you. You are the reason I keep going and I value you more than you know.

But to the others?

Read the damn sign. Respect the barricade. This is my home. Not a photo op. Not a petting zoo. Not yours to wander as you please.

....

I’m going to go spend some time with the alpacas now and maybe touch some grass. The critters have always had a calming presence—and right now, I need that more than ever.