But why isn't it pretty?

Unless we were raised on a farm or homestead, we all seem to have this iconic vision of a farm: the green, sloping pasture, the grazing cattle (probably Holsteins), the red barn, the straight and well tended fence line, chickens gathered here and there around the yard.  Well, that's bullcrap.  I have never been on a farm with a perfect fence.  And while I've seen plenty of green pasture, it's usually dotted with, well...bullcrap.  Homesteading is even less picturesque.

One of the things I'm most proud of is how good we are at using found or recycled materials. The only materials we purchased for building our chicken coop were screws and nails.  Not to toot our own horn, but (toot, toot) that's impressive, y'all.

However, frugality often means things aren't as pretty as they would have been had we bought new materials.  I'm impressed by our thriftiness and ingenuity, but sometimes I fret that our property isn't more like that iconic farm in our minds.  I don't know why.  I know that Zuckerman's Farm (home of Zuckerman's famous pig, a.k.a. Wilbur of Charlotte's Web) does not exist.  Why can't I shake that image?  I think that people should be more exposed to what real farming is, especially as children.

A farm is not a place where the barn is always clean and the animals are all chummy and never get eaten.  Sorry, kids.

Why do we show kids pictures of barns that perpetually look like they've just had a fresh coat of paint?  Why do we pretend that the pig and chicken are merely ornaments in said barn that serve no real purpose? Why are we so afraid to show kids where their food comes from? Could it be because showing kids what farms really look like would traumatize them?  The truth is that the majority of their food comes from horrific sources.  Should we be showing them the factory farm that produced the meat for the burger they just ordered at McDonald's?  Are you joking?  The adults in their lives can barely face that reality.  So we create the pretty, pretty picture of Ma and Pa down on the farm.

Then there are those of us striving to change how we produce food.  We are advocates for local food networks and small farms that provide for the community in which they are situated.  It's a labor of love, that's for sure; we certainly aren't raking in the dough.  There is no way we could afford to devote time or money to simply making things more aesthetically appealing. And I refuse to feel bad about that anymore.  I love what we're doing and have got to give up the idea that we're not doing it right because it isn't pretty enough.  But kids should see how their food is grown as is.  Show them the muggy greenhouses.  Show them the industrial sprayers.  Show them the old tractor tires piled up behind the barn, the muddy pig pen, the shed made of pallet wood, the compost and manure piles.  Take them to the farms and let them smell the chicken coop, feel the soil, do a few chores, get some poop on their shoes.  Then, and only then, can our kids start making informed decisions regarding their food.  And we can finally stop pretending that chicken breasts don't come from actual chickens.

The not-so-pretty picture:

We use the corners of our log home to store hoses.

Pallet wood serves many purposes around the farm.  It holds compost, forms pig pens, etc.


 
Ducks swim in old canoes and kiddie pools.


 
Old barrels make feed troughs and waterers for the pigs.

An old wheelbarrow top makes a great feeder for piglets while they're still too small to reach the trough pictured above.

Stress Management

I've promised myself that I would focus as much on our struggles as our successes on this blog.  I'd love to paint a perfectly pretty picture of farming and homesteading for you, but it ain't so.  Anyone with a garden can tell you that this time of year is particularly busy.  Add in the addition of livestock and a new baby, and you're asking for trouble.  But, hey, we're completely insane.  So that's exactly what we've done.  We're expanding our garden and chicken flock, and adding pigs.  We're even talking about adding dairy animals in the next year.  Now that it's time to actually start the process of incorporating these things, we're finding that time is running short and tempers are running hot.

Picture this: we have painted one of our kitchen cabinets with chalkboard paint and it currently displays a list of everything that absolutely needs to be done in the next two weeks.  When these two weeks are up, it will be replaced by a new list of things.  Hopefully nothing will roll over from this list to the next one, but who am I kidding?  The list covers everything from perennial management to hauling in sheep manure from our neighbors to gathering all the materials we need for the birth of our second child (affectionately referred to as New Baby).  There is a project for every day.  Add to this Andrew's demanding work schedule, a very active toddler to care for, and a house that still needs to be kept (relatively) clean and cared for... Ugh.

This post isn't meant to be a whine-fest.  I have a point.  We've had to adapt to being so busy and getting less sleep and harboring more anxiety.  Before you ask, yes, this farming endeavor is still worth it.  But it isn't always easy.  I've been doing a lot of thinking over my morning coffee this morning and I now see that Andrew and I have our own ways of dealing with the stress of this time of  year.  It's working for us.  We have our coping mechanisms that are getting us through.

Andrew takes comfort in doing.  He is up early every morning to get something (anything!) done outside.  This has actually been a bit of a problem for me because it means that he's getting all of the daily outdoor chores done before our kiddo has even had breakfast.  I would also be happy to be outside first thing in the morning but he hogs all of the chores!  But productivity of any kind is the best medicine for my husband.  In fact, he's out loosening the soil for asparagus crowns right now.

I take comfort in planning.  I am a skilled list maker and researcher.  I have lists for nearly everything and spreadsheets for everything else.  Now, I don't waste my time reinventing the wheel.  If I can find a list or spreadsheet made by someone else that suits our needs, I'll pilfer it.  My mom has been an invaluable resource in this regard.  She's a bigger list/spreadsheet junkie than I am, so I've "borrowed" much of her material.  Whether I developed it or borrowed and adapted it, looking at a list or spreadsheet calms me.  I have a plan; I have a course.  All is well as long as I stick to it.

But here's where Andrew and I are the same.  We both have made an effort to a) talk more about our anxieties and stressors with each other and conquer them together and b) delight in the small things.  Neither of these coping mechanisms were planned, but we just fell into sync in a way.  I'm very, very grateful to have a partner that I can be so in sync with.  At night, our pillow talk is of barn building materials, compost and manure.  We make plans and bounce new ideas off one another.  And this works for us.  We're not battling things alone.  And delighting in the small things?  Some days it's easier than others.  Sometimes they are REALLY small things.  Last night, after putting the chickens and ducks away for the night, I noticed our resident woodcock doing his nightly dance.  My heart had been heavy with all of the chores on that damn chalkboard list, but taking a half hour at the end of a long day to watch the woodcock sing and dance backdropped by the setting sun brought me so much joy.  I stood on the porch of the chicken coop and reflected on how blessed we are to live in such a beautiful place, a place undisturbed enough to allow this solitary bird to dance for hours in search of its mate without interruption.  A place where I can take my kid outside and all I have to worry about is how much dirt he's eating.  Andrew sees these things too.  We regularly share these little joys with each other and move on from the dark place in our minds.  We are reminding each other that all of the stress is worth it.  So, so worth it.

We also make sure to have enough family time.  Every evening, all three of us hang out in Charlie's bed and read books together.  We laugh often and share parts of our day.  Charlie snuggles and giggles, gives hugs and kisses, and gets his sillies out before sleep.  It's, without a doubt, my favorite time of day. We also emjoy some pre-bedtime stretches that help us work out the stress that we carry physically.  Charlie calls it his "goya," or yoga.

I'm telling ya, it's the little things.