tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72242070257637951952024-02-07T14:47:26.253-06:00Dairy Berries - Droppings From Fertile MindsRuminations on life at Swede Farm. Or, how to raise twelve children, operate a goat dairy and deliver babies (not necessarily ours) at the same time.LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.comBlogger263125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-56341955004776499592023-11-06T17:45:00.005-06:002023-11-07T09:01:00.157-06:00Carolina and Bessie; Or Just One More Reason We Are Not an Organic Farm<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuer6p3ZaGMhVUoEYCm789HTaRrBEV4eKLvM6-kJnMbn5L-VR_AUFSNczX52j9-2l-qBWFYksEANTZEFFhuZAubUUKSoRegvpXtiAssAQUh9U5g_L00EV-BCksvEAgAD10I_fPTavFuaRTI-K6mIqY3yGLxPPztXusk_qhclD8xhajEJZ-KIbeTv-HnAM/s1938/385524253_802537768312646_6033538566516518965_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1938" data-original-width="1875" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuer6p3ZaGMhVUoEYCm789HTaRrBEV4eKLvM6-kJnMbn5L-VR_AUFSNczX52j9-2l-qBWFYksEANTZEFFhuZAubUUKSoRegvpXtiAssAQUh9U5g_L00EV-BCksvEAgAD10I_fPTavFuaRTI-K6mIqY3yGLxPPztXusk_qhclD8xhajEJZ-KIbeTv-HnAM/s320/385524253_802537768312646_6033538566516518965_n.jpg" width="310" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">N. Carolina with her new herdmate Virgina behind her.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Those who have followed the farm for a while know that we were originally all about goats. We had no intention whatsoever to own cows. When people asked if we were <i>sure</i> that the milk they were tasting was, in fact, goat milk, not cow milk (because it tasted so much better than the goat milk they were accustomed to getting from the grocery store), we assured them that there <i>were</i> no cows on the farm at all.</p><p>Then, in 2020, I found myself tired, exhausted, and just plain drained. It might have had something to do with trying to finish my masters degree at the same time as running a small family farm and a large weekly farmers market, but the end result was the same. I posed a question to Tim--what would he think of shutting down the farm? Just quitting, going under, whatever you want to call it. Our side gigs, which at the time included both managing the market and teaching, were sufficient to pay the bills, while the farm, as always, was in a desultory circle around the proverbial drain. Our largest bill was animal feed, second was the electricity for the dairy and creamery. It was a smart financial decision to get out of farming.</p><p>Instead we got cows.</p><p>Right now I can't even recall the path the conversation took that led us from "Let's quit," to "Let's expand," but we soon found ourselves with a sweet Jersey cross named Virginia. Virginia led to Georgia, Mississippi, S. Carolina, and Virginia's heifer calf Shenandoah. (We'd decided that our cows would be named after southern states, and their babies would be names after towns or regions in those states.) Over the years since we first discussed quitting and instead dug the hole deeper, we've had to euthanize a cow due to an uncurable illness, we've sold a cow to a friend, and we've lost a cow to pregnancy complications, leading us back to where we started, with just Virginia supplying an increasing demand for Swede Farm cow milk. It was clear to our customers that we needed another cow, even if we took a while to agree. Once we decided that it was probably smart, we went cow shopping, only to find that we are definitely in a sellers market for cows, for reasons I may get to in future posts, but for now, I want to talk about N. Carolina.</p><p>When we started our search for a new cow, at first we just looked at Jerseys, or Jersey crosses, which were already in milk. Jerseys are smaller, eat less, and give super creamy milk. The proverbial black and white cow one sees on Etsy tee-shirts and cookie jars are Holsteins. They are large cows, they produce a lot of milk, and eat a lot of food. They just seemed like a bit too much cow for us. Yet as I scrolled through the for sale listings, one cow caught my eye. She was a Holstein, and she was <i>large</i>, very large in fact, for she was pregnant. Strike one: a Holstein. Strike two: not even in milk, the very reason we were looking for a cow. But every single Jersey in milk that I'd called about for the past two weeks had been sold within hours of being posted, so perhaps it was worth looking into.</p><p>And so we hooked up the trailer and drove to Italy, Texas.</p><p>She was clearly in good health, which subsequent blood and milk tests have confirmed. She was also huge. And skittish. And clearly close to calving, as she was already dripping milk from a very capacious udder. The couple who had listed her weren't even in dairy, they raised beef cattle, but the wife had owned a dairy for years, decades ago, and had a soft spot in her heart for dairy animals. </p><p>"When they ran her through the auction, they said she was from an organic dairy," the woman explained, telling me that she had felt sick, thinking "She's got a big ole baby in her and they're just gonna turn her into hamburger." </p><p>Her husband chimed in "So when she got home I went to unload the trailer and here was this Holstein among the Angus I'd sent her for!"</p><p>We are often asked at the farmers market if our dairy is organic. It is not. Often the assumption is made that the reason is the high cost of organic certification, but the truth is that once a dairy has jumped through the hoops to satisfy the requirements to be organic, the certification fees are the least of it. The requirements are many and often difficult, if not impossible for a small farm to satisfy. For us the biggest reason has to do with medication. We have a small herd of goats and a likewise very small herd of cows. With the goats we are currently milking great, great, great, great, great granddaughters of some of our very first goats. We raise our animals as holistically as we can, but sometimes we face a situation where medications are needed and there is nothing we can do about it. One of our favorite breeds of goats are LaManchas, a breed with ears that are very small and close to their heads, not unlike human ears, just smaller and hairier than any but a hobbit ear might be. Ear infections can happen--and can be very dangerous in LaManchas, calling for antibiotics. The organic code mandates that organic dairies may not withhold needed medication, which is a compassionate approach. The problem is that these animals may no longer be used for milk on an organic dairy. So what do you do when you are a small farm with animals you've needed to medicate but whose milk you can no longer use? Small farms don't always have room for non-producing dairy animals, nor the money to run a livestock retirement home. So the other options are to butcher them, or sell them to non-organic dairies. We decided long ago that we are not going to do this. When we have delivered a baby goat, bottle fed it, watched it grow, marveled at how it looks <i>just like</i> her grandmother Nyla, waited excitedly for a baby from this goat, we are not going to butcher it or sell it. Other farms do, and this is fine. We also do sell animals, but when we feel it is best, and when we can carefully select where they go, not with our backs against the wall. Ultimately what it comes down to is that we do not feel "organic" to be an animal-friendly designation for dairy animals. Perhaps for meat animals with a relatively short lifespan, but not for an animal you hope to work in partnership with for over a decade.</p><p>From what we can tell, this is likely what happened with N. Carolina. She was in the prime of life at five years old. She was in crazy good health. She had an uncomplicated pregnancy. She was less than a month from having a healthy baby--yet likely because she'd needed to be medicated, she was sent to auction where she was destined to be turned into hamburger.</p><p>We are so thankful that there was someone at the auction who recognized "She's got a big ole baby in her and they're just gonna turn her into hamburger." That they were able to bring her home. That they kept an eye on her, made sure she was settled and that there were no health issues brewing.</p><p>So we brought her home, she and that "big ole baby" in her. She was named N. Carolina by the customers who urged us to shop for an addition to the herd, which was a perfect fit as we had recently lost S. Carolina. And two days after we got her to the farm, she calved, giving us a sweet baby girl, named Bessie after the North Carolina town.</p><p>We think that's a better ending than being turned into hamburger.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDvAbecZbG8e_BGVYq6Hg28J2xMMa4hBSFYxgOV5HnAQmBFbR0q2nz9zKnsoBZYoJH26b9uR68vAU1vuVaJqVBhOPEvuP4yUODK14oeo9pSmJuzXz7v07RBBQloJ0gLUWJa4STGve-02U_Pt8tcg-x1zNUwKkVjkQYi7tgJDjQLbRVL_a66DSUQGLN0hU/s2000/396606557_818852586918143_6455490605310998684_n%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDvAbecZbG8e_BGVYq6Hg28J2xMMa4hBSFYxgOV5HnAQmBFbR0q2nz9zKnsoBZYoJH26b9uR68vAU1vuVaJqVBhOPEvuP4yUODK14oeo9pSmJuzXz7v07RBBQloJ0gLUWJa4STGve-02U_Pt8tcg-x1zNUwKkVjkQYi7tgJDjQLbRVL_a66DSUQGLN0hU/s320/396606557_818852586918143_6455490605310998684_n%20(1).jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bessie</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-9421734383419870752023-08-28T12:20:00.003-05:002023-08-28T20:17:28.680-05:00Preparing for the Zombie Apocalypse<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cmTt1XPSUZD3GxClxGcD0uumT0VK1utk_08c7VG4RJdolK1o8JqbxCPBWnKj5YQzpSPcLJ6FgnmrVz-9lrCL5OY1gR-2LlG9wgShm_AVk7ffXYIKTafN3Xd6cpbV2057V6YTljehYxC0bCNzW-sh_2oJt9VKAQHkKzNXHQN6fOVf3h2HNYOLPITTBds/s157/9hcawv1j.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="157" data-original-width="127" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cmTt1XPSUZD3GxClxGcD0uumT0VK1utk_08c7VG4RJdolK1o8JqbxCPBWnKj5YQzpSPcLJ6FgnmrVz-9lrCL5OY1gR-2LlG9wgShm_AVk7ffXYIKTafN3Xd6cpbV2057V6YTljehYxC0bCNzW-sh_2oJt9VKAQHkKzNXHQN6fOVf3h2HNYOLPITTBds/s1600/9hcawv1j.png" width="127" /></a></span>Usually Emma makes the weekly feed run. She isn’t working during the week, she has time on her hands, and it is an excuse for her to spend time with one or two siblings. She drives to the farm, leaves her silver Camry, grabs her sister Libby, or Dixie, or brothers Seth, Noah, and Judah, and they hit the road on a mission in the farm truck, which is technically the 12 passenger van, all but one bench seat removed. Drive 48 miles, pick up a literal ton of feed and hay, return home, by way of a favorite coffee bar on the way out, lunch and perhaps a quick stop at a grocery store, and coffee again on the way back. It’s a trip that takes three hours, perhaps four, depending on whether her siblings persuade her to stop at the used book store as well.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">But sometimes Emma can’t make it. Her car is misbehaving, she has errands of her own to run, or she and husband Shaye are out of town. So then it falls to me. When I go, I usually bring Noah, perhaps one or two of the others. These days it’s often Noah as he is going through a rough patch; that transition from farm kid to adult can be tough without a culturally imposed demarcation, such as leaving for college, or moving out of the house. So we drive, and talk, and sometimes listen to audio books. His favorites are </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Deep Creek</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> by Pam Houston and </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Creativity, Inc</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> by Ed Catmull. Sometimes we listen to the music of his choice. Note to parents–listening to music with your kids is a great way to gain insight into their thoughts, and what influences them. Noah being a country kid, neck deep in rodeo and such, the songs are often love ballads to girls in tight jeans. Or tractors. Or family. Or family land. Sometimes they extoll the glories of the United States military and “God Bless the USA,” which I don’t necessarily take exception to, after all, I have close family members who’ve served in the military, our farm itself being named after one of them. My love for the United States is a bit nuanced, though, having grown up overseas and learning about our nation’s complex history of involvement in other lands, with or without the sanction of the peoples of those lands. Still, I am blessed that he does listen, or at least does a good impression of listening when I cut him off mid stanza to say “OK, hold it, can we turn this off for a sec?” and launch into a discussion which (I hope) draws his attention to the fact that not all flag-waving is straightforward and worthy of a parade.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Sometimes, though, it is Tim who rides shotgun. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It doesn’t happen often that Tim and I go on a feed run together these days. I’m not going that much anyway, and when he is depressed, he prefers to remain at home. Between these two factors, it’s rare. When he does go, though, I usually drive. We talk, yes, but these hours in the car are often spent with me driving while he reads to me. This is a tradition going back to when we were both attending the University of Houston and had commutes to class of over an hour each way, and he would read, or when he drove, we’d listen to books together. Those were the days when we were working our way through Brene Brown’s books. Now they may be nonfiction books we find intriguing, such as on behavioral economics, or about depression. Lately, it’s been Joan Didion, which has been fun. Two weeks ago, though, he brought along a deck of cards with questions for couples to ask each other. We’ve done this before with racy cards, but this time they were simpler, more conversation starters. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">The one that stood out was likely intended to be more lighthearted. “What is the first thing I would do in a zombie apocalypse?” His answer was something along the line of “I don’t believe in zombies, but I guess I’d freeze?” I immediately thought back to reading </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">I am Legend</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"> in a class on genre and form and the endless routines undertaken by the protagonist in order to keep the zombies at bay. I remembered Mat Johnson saying in the class that post-apocalyptic writing was usually a means of working through the societal fears at the time of writing. Thinking of routines designed to try to control the impossible superimposed on a pervasive sense of fear combined to prompt my response, that I live the zombie apocalypse every day on the farm. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Even before a mystery metabolic disorder wiped out twenty of our milking goats over the course of a month late in 2011, much of our farm routines are an attempt to control nature and shape the lives of our animals. The exact time of milking, the percentages of protein vs fats vs carbohydrates in the grain mixtures we feed our animals, the aligning of date of breeding with vaccinations, the medicine cabinet full of remedies we will usually need to throw away because they’ve passed their expiration dates unopened. All of this is a bulwark thrown up to protect us against that time when the footsteps pounding across the grass and through the front door are carrying the alarm that Lottie/Windy/Dawn is acting odd or is down and can’t get up, or “Got stuck in a fence and </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">maybe</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> has a hurt leg?” It never fails, of course, that the specific emergency is precisely the one thing for which I am unprepared, and even now, after raising goats for a few weeks shy of nineteen years, they never fail to surprise me, and teach me something new, something I’d not yet known that I needed to be afraid of.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Sitting here today, though, looking over my desk and through the window at the trees across the road, I know what this particular season of fear looks like. This lesson we learned twelve years and eight days ago when billowing black smoke rose over the trees to our east, followed within a few hours by a sheriff with a bullhorn announcing that the time to get out, to leave, to seek safety was now, </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">now</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">. I blogged during that time, of what it was like, running back and forth from pasture to the livestock trailer, of standing in the living room, </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">freezing</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">, as Tim said he’d do in response to zombies, unsure what to grab, what to bring, what we needed to be safe, to be prepared. It was our teenage daughters who thought to grab the diaper bag, the family pictures, the quilt sewn by my grandmother. I did make mental notes throughout the week we were evacuated, of the things I wish I’d thought to bring, and that I prayed would still be there when the fire was contained, was out. When we returned to a farm layered with charred bark, and dusted pink by the fire retardant dropped by the planes which had flown overhead, thankfully it was to a house and dairy which still stood, though less than half a mile away houses were lost. We hung the quilt back on the wall, we cleaned out the raised garden beds of the bark which had fallen on the tomatoes and peppers, and wondered if these beds were still safe to use, after being sprayed pink. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Now we drive down country roads leading to the farm and note the trees. When we faced the drought of 2011, we didn’t know the difference between a tree that is stressed by drought, leaves dropped in order to conserve what it can, and a tree that is drought-killed: a tree killed by drought often has branches still full of leaves, just leaves which are brittle and brown. Back then we also didn’t know that trees stressed by drought can die years later, long after rains have returned, sometimes five years later. We lost well over a hundred trees on our acreage during that drought and the following years. Although this year hasn’t been as dry as it was in 2011, the driest year on record for the state of Texas, it has nonetheless been brutal. This month is set to be the hottest August in the past 150 years, and it shows. Although we have nowhere near the dead trees we saw in 2011, the days carry with them the brittleness of watchful waiting. The sky is scanned, hopefully for rainclouds, and for smoke. Electronic signs along the highways warn of fire conditions, and restaurants post on their signage “Pray for Rain” just above “Tuesdays Kids Eat Free!” Recently on the social network Nextdoor, someone in our area posted that they witnessed a driver toss a burning cigarette from their car window. Readers demanded that the perpetrator be arrested. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">We have discussed whether we need to make preparations in case we face another wildfire in our area. We have a much larger livestock trailer now, which is a comfort as with the last fire we were forced to leave some animals behind. Of course we also have larger animals now, and adding cows to the mix might change up the dynamics somewhat. There are less people on the farm to worry about, but more years of living on the farm to imbue every corner, tree, and fencepost with memory. I will, at least, put together a bag with the important documents I left behind last time. I will probably have a tote bag ready with needed medications, for people and animals. Or maybe I won’t. As I type this I now feel as if I am possibly being overly concerned. Perhaps it was the mention of zombies. Perhaps it’s just anxiety, driven by the clear blue cloudless sky over the brown parched grass and cracked soil. But at least, we agreed, we should make sure the trailer tires are full of air and the van is full of gas at all times. Like the baby books tell you to do when you approach your due date. Because who wants to be caught off guard?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br />LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-44597315416727957552017-01-10T20:16:00.001-06:002017-01-11T10:23:21.412-06:00Hmmm. Where to Start?It has been years since I have blogged. Literally. Years. (Eighteen months, to be exact.) So what brings me here now?<br />
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Phew. Where to begin?<br />
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To be honest, I came here to cannibalize, or at least, to glean from past posts. You see, as I posted back in 2014, I returned to school at the University of Houston. My goal was to complete the BA that I walked away from in 1985 when Tim and I married. Ultimately I wanted to apply to an MFA program to take the writing that so satisfied me here in this blog, and hone it, polish it, take it to the next level. You can't get a master's degree without a bachelor's degree, so the BA had to be the first stop. Let me tell you, it has been one wild and crazy stop! As it just so happens (like anything <i>just happens</i>) the University of Houston has a nationally recognized graduate creative writing program. A program that includes the phenomenal faculty teaching at the undergraduate level. So while I have been finishing up that degree, I have been able to sit at the feet, if you will, of the very same caliber of instructors that I thought I would have to wait until graduate school to study under.<br />
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I have won writing contests. (You can read about it <a href="http://www.uh.edu/provost/students/current/creative-writing/">here</a>, including the actual winning piece.)<br />
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I have been published.<br />
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I have been able to serve as editor for the undergraduate literary magazine, <i><a href="http://www.glassmountainmag.com/">Glass Mountain</a>.</i><br />
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I graduate in May, and have just days ago clicked "submit" on the last of those graduate school applications. Those programs that have astonishingly high acceptance rates, such as 2%, or even... .5% That is <i>point five percent. </i>As in <i>half a percent. </i>Yikes! Contrast that to one five year PhD program that I looked into that warned of accepting only 6-8 students out of 150 applicants. I cocked my head and thought "Dang, that's a great acceptance rate!" If I keep up with thinking like that, I might start investing in Powerball, or even run in a marathon...<br />
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Part of that degree that I will earn, come May, is a senior honors thesis. Guess what I am writing my thesis about? This may come as a shock, but I opted to do my thesis on...farming. More specifically, our farm memoir. After all, why waste the years spent <strike>suffering</strike> researching? As I drew up the outline for the farm memoir, it occurred to me that coming back to the old home place and poking around in the dusty closets of the blog might yield some long forgotten <strike>nightmare</strike> memory that might work well in a farm memoir/thesis/exposition.<br />
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So here I am.<br />
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Is anyone else here?<br />
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At any rate it has been fun to write just for, well, the relaxation and joy of it, instead of for a grade.<br />
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Maybe I'll see you around sometime. And fill you in on the kids who have grown up and moved out, the farmers markets started, the kids who have gotten married...<br />
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In the meanwhile, see ya at the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/mvfm024/?ref=br_tf">market</a>!<br />
<br />LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-63197437216577582372015-07-17T10:32:00.001-05:002023-08-28T11:59:57.277-05:00Identifying the Serpent<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shopping in Switzerland</td></tr>
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In my last blog post, I talked about farmers markets--specifically farmers markets as we know them in Texas, visiting the bucolic ideal that we were introduced to when we began selling at markets. We discussed the downward spiral of farmers turning to more value-added products, markets turning to more products produced far from any farm, and customers turning away from markets, leading farmers to have to be more flexible in what they produce, hence the value-added products. Which is the chicken and which is the egg in this scenario?<br />
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Here at Swede Farm we have noticed an overall decline in market sales for the past two years. This decline holds true for markets in Houston and in Austin, large markets and small, weekend markets or week day markets. When we speak to other farmers and market vendors, they report a similar trend in market sales. One conjectured that it was due to the proliferation of farmers markets in the city, noting that it was with the expansion of markets that their income dropped an average of 30%. Market managers note that the cities being served should be able to handle an abundance of markets. They point to the population of Austin and Houston, they note the demographics; well educated consumers with disposable income, and conclude that Texas cities should see thriving markets in all areas, on all days of the week. Ironically, these same market managers comment that their markets are down--and they point to the growing number of markets as the reason for why the numbers are down.<br />
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The truth is, though, that most of these markets are small, falter early on and rarely thrive past the first two years.<br />
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The truth is, that these vendors are in multiple markets. Each time a market opens, the farmer or prepared food vendor stretches to be in the new market as well as their old markets. If sales are down at one market due to the opening of a new market, the decrease of sales at the established market should be made up by sales at the new market--yet this is not happening.<br />
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Markets are not failing everywhere, our travels have confirmed this fact. Over the past two years, we have been able to visit markets in multiple cities in the United States, from New York City to San Francisco and others scattered between the two. We have shopped in markets in England, Germany, France, Italy, Switzerland, and Spain. We have seen thriving farmers markets of all sizes and in varying kinds of neighborhoods. There are a few key factors that we have noted that seem to differentiate Texas markets from the thriving East and West coast markets. We believe that these differences create a challenge that Texas markets must address in order to not only survive but also thrive.<br />
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While there have obviously been farmers markets in American from the earliest days of the nation, the modern farmers market movement is fairly young. The proliferation of farmers markets across the country can be traced in large part to the growing awareness of a need for sustainable local food systems. Consumer awareness was captured by books such as <i><a href="http://michaelpollan.com/books/the-omnivores-dilemma/">The Omnivore's Dilemma</a> </i>by Michael Pollan (2006) and films such as <a href="http://www.takepart.com/foodinc">"Food, Inc"</a>, directed by Robert Kenner. This joint awareness of the importance of local foods and the pitfalls of factory farming were a boon for farmers who were looking for another way of doing business. The growing local food movement inspired many to leave their corporate jobs in order to be a part of the new movement. Some of these adherents gained the courage to begin their own sustainable farms, while others committed themselves to organizations such as <a href="http://sustainablefoodcenter.org/">Sustainable Food Center</a> and <a href="http://www.grownyc.org/">GrowNYC</a> that seek to establish new and functional food infrastructures. Consumers, informed of the impact of "factory farms"and desirous of supporting local businesses sought other ways of shopping, searching out farmers markets, shopping directly at farms and becoming involved in a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Community-supported_agriculture">CSA</a> program. As new farmers markets emerge and (hopefully) grow, the supporting organizations travel to places such as New York City and San Francisco in order to "see how it's done". Unfortunately, while these vaunted market systems are inspiring, they provide a model that may not be one that can be replicated in Texas.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buying from friend Lynn of Lynnhaven Farm in Brooklyn</td></tr>
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San Francisco and New York City have several natural characteristics that change the dynamic of their local farmers markets. Both cities (and others with highly touted farmers markets such as Portland, OR and Seattle, WA) have metropolitan areas with land areas ranging from 84 square miles (Seattle) to 302 square miles (NYC). Houston and the Dallas/Forth Worth metropolitan areas begin at a hair under 600 square miles for Houston and over 600 square miles for theDFW area*, and these areas are growing rapidly. What does this mean for the local food movement? In order to buy farmland, would-be farmers must go further and further away from the city centers. Most markets, inspired by early pioneers in the local food movement, adhere to a 150 mile rule, meaning that farmers must be located within a 150 mile radius of the city in order to sell at the market. As farmers must move further and further away from city limits, the "crop" of farmers from which a market may draw their vendors necessarily grows smaller and smaller. Fewer farmers make for weak markets. One alternative to this challenge may be increasing numbers of urban farms. There are cities in Texas that are exceptions to the monolithic struggling market system, cities such as Austin. How does Austin get around the challenges faced by Houston and Dallas? Austin is not as sprawling as Houston or Dallas, with less than 300 square miles Austin is literally less than half the size of her neighbors to the North and Southeast. This means that there is more potential farmland within the required 150 miles radius available to would-be farmers who want to vend at Austin markets. Austin also utilizes more urban farms. This may not be long-lived, however, as urban farms, find themselves increasingly under attack. As the neighborhoods surrounding them become more gentrified, urban farmers face being zoned out of existence, or taxed out of existence, as the value of surrounding neighborhoods skyrockets.<div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Market in Leipzig, Germany</td></tr>
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The second major difference in these cities with thriving market systems dovetails with the size of the cities, and this is the availability of mass public transportation. Populations that are more likely using trains and buses to get from work, to home, to shopping are also more likely to be buying smaller amounts of food, They are less likely to be engaging in mass shopping excursions for the simple reason that the average trip to a big-box grocery store will yield more food than can be easily carted home via the subway or even via a bicycle. Markets that run each day of the week and in different parts of the town will be more likely to see business when one is grabbing a few quick items on the way home. More sprawling cities, such as Houston or Dallas, will see commuters driving personal vehicles long distances. Stuck on freeways for hours, it would appear that they are less likely to adopt a 'guerilla' method of grocery shopping, relying instead on occasions during which they may stock up in bulk--not exactly a farmers market friendly method of shopping. Even cities with notoriously arduous commutes, such as NYC, that nevertheless manage to maintain a thriving farmers market scene, draw large amounts of shoppers from those who live within the city itself. These are shoppers that utilize the markets to get truly exceptional items in smaller amounts that can be found by means of a small deviation in their routine, made possible due to extensive public transportation systems that allow them to access perhaps smaller but stable markets in different parts of the city. This is not dissimilar from what we observed in European markets, where the farmers markets are used to bring the high quality items to shoppers accustomed to a two-tiered method of shopping, with shelf-stable staples bought at small corner stores while the fresh goods at sourced at open-air markets.<br />
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If the challenges facing farmers markets in the larger cities such as Houston and Dallas are apparently immutable issues such as sprawling cities and lack of acceptance of public transportation leading to different shopping habits, is there any hope to be found for farmers markets? Does this necessarily mean that farmers markets are doomed to be sub-par in our larger cities?<br />
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We do not believe this to be the case--provided the systems set up to support local farms and farmers markets recognizes the differences between Houston and New York City. Addressing the challenges faced by our larger cities will require the courage to admit that Houston is <i>not</i> NYC, nor is it San Francisco. Markets will succeed when we embrace a Texas-style ingenuity and flexibility to get the job done. Standards need to change, expectations need to change, rules and regulations need to change. In addition to the issues hobbling our markets, we have competition drawing away our educated consumers who desire to support the markets. We need a two pronged approach to solving the problem. First we need to recognize the strengths of the competition and adapt to better compete and secondly we need to reassess what will make a successful TEXAS farmers market system.<br />
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This is what we will be discussing with the next blog post. As always, <i>please</i> chime in with your perspectives and solutions. We need to implement changes that will make the situation better for everyone.<br />
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*Size of cities based on information found at <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_United_States_cities_by_area">this site</a>.<br />
<br /></div>LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-12477415831888830442015-06-15T10:49:00.000-05:002015-06-15T10:51:15.333-05:00Looking for Eden<br />
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The scene is as close to pastoral as one can hope find in the midst of a large city, tables groaning under fresh produce and baskets piled high with fruit while fresh cheese and eggs are carefully placed in large handwoven baskets--a treasure to be carried home and lovingly prepared. This is what we see every morning from our tent at the farmers markets. In that careful moment between daybreak and blistering Texas heat, customers stroll from one farmer to another. They move, list in hand, from "their meat guy" to "their egg person" to "the milk people". Their shoes still bear the trace of the dew gathered as they walked through the park to reach the market, their voices are hushed as they shop. These early shoppers shared with the farmers the hushed expectancy of a time dedicated to food and to valuing the farmers whose labors bring the food to market.<br />
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There is something incredibly rejuvenating about a farmers markets. We sell at markets and it is deeply satisfying on a visceral, even spiritual, level, to be able to pass along the tangible result of our efforts. To hold in our hands the proof of our labors is a privilege. To be able to hand this to someone who values the care and sacrifice that went into the creation of that food is a blessing. We are, we know, supremely blessed, to be able to share life-giving sustenance to others.<br />
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At the end of market, we gather our food for the week. We have shared our riches with others, we gather from others bounty that will feed our children for the coming week. We have held back some cheese for our friends and they have reserved honey for us. Sometimes there is little left. We may wish that we had been able to grab some of the lime basil before it flew off our fellow farmer's tables, but we rejoice with them that they sold out. There is often a festive feel to the end of market. We have crossed a finish line in bringing our product from the field to the creamery to the market; we are gain the precious burden of bringing the fruits of our friend's labors home to feed our own children. It is a symbiotic relationship from every angle. Farmers need the city customers, farmers need each other, farmers need the organizations that run the markets, who in turn need the farmers to fill the market and the customers who value the market. Given the realities of 21st century living this is about a perfect situation as one could possibly find, a return to Eden within the confines of some of the largest cities in the world.<br />
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Lately, though, we wonder if there may not be a serpent in this garden, or at least a root-rot that may be eating away at the markets.<br />
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To be honest, there have been murmurings of discontent with our market models for some time, now. As far back as the March/April 2009 issue of <a href="http://www.motherjones.com/">Mother Jones</a>, an article titled <a href="http://www.motherjones.com/environment/2009/03/foodie-beware">"Foodie, Beware"</a> warned that a subtle shift was taking place in the markets. Farmers were turning to value-added products, then leaving markets altogether, for wholesale opportunities such as selling to restaurants, stores and delivery services. A shift was taking place, from markets filled with farmers to markets filled with prepared foods and loosely food-based crafts so that the shopper could fill those capacious baskets with dried flowers and spice rubs while they eat fresh breakfast tacos and sip good coffee. The customer may not complain, after all, these are the kinds of purchases that give that extra flavor and joy to life--but are these still properly to be called farmers markets? How many farmers does it take to allow a market to retain the title "farmers market"? What of the farmers? They talk quietly among themselves about declining sales. The "real" customers are not shopping in the numbers that they once were, they have been replaced by those who visit once, perhaps from out of town, or by those who come for the weekend routine of fresh pastry and coffee and to listen to the band and do a little people watching. These customers do not make up the bulk of what the farmers had grown accustomed to seeing, but customers are customers, right?<br />
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Unfortunately, no. These customers do not buy like the customers that we had grown used to at markets. Farmers, anxious to make ends meet adapt to the customers that <i>do</i> come to the markets. We have seen peach orchards turn to selling primarily dried fruit and preserves. One family did not even plant their usual market garden this year, as their focus has become handcrafted soaps and skincare products. In both cases the reason was simple--there are not enough customers to buy the fresh fruit and vegetables, leaving the farmers scrambling to develop products that will remain shelf-stable and bring a consistent income. The dedicated shoppers who come for the pure farmers market fare leave disappointed when they are unable to get the abundance of seasonal produce, many of them leaving the market system and turning to the organic fare in the grocery stores, leaving less customers to buy the kale, carrots and cantaloupe, and the downward spiral continues.<br />
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Where did this spiral begin? Can it be stopped? Is it perhaps time to acknowledge that the return to the market system that supports local, sustainable farming has failed? We have some thoughts that we would like to share from our years of selling at market and our observations of markets that we have visited across the country and even internationally. These will be shared in tomorrow's blog, in the meanwhile, we would appreciate any comments that readers may have regarding the current situation of farmer's markets in the United States in general, Texas in specific.<br />
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Until tomorrow~ <br />
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LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-89764347594518541142015-05-28T18:25:00.001-05:002015-05-28T18:29:03.987-05:00Life Journeys<br />
Everyone at some point in their life has experienced a life journey. These journeys are unique in that we know where we begin, we know where we hope to end. We may even know what we believe will be the route that we will take. The other aspect that we know when we begin these journeys is that they seem like they will be interminable. We look ahead and the destination is so far ahead that we almost cannot bring ourselves to take in the entire journey at one glance, it is simply too daunting. Given the overwhelming nature of the journey, we opt to take it one section at a time.<br />
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What are these journeys that almost all of us undertake? One may be parenthood. The baby is born and we are warned that we must consciously try to embrace each day, because they fly, oh! so! fast! and some day we will miss these times.<br />
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Instead, sleep deprived, we live in a world where every night takes forever. We wonder if the thankless days of spit up and dirty diapers will ever come to an end. Just when we despair, we are rewarded with that first milk-drunk smile from our wobbly-headed baby and we know that we can carry on. We have learned a lesson, though, that the days stretch on with little to differentiate them from another, so we look for that milestone and we live from milestone to milestone. The first smile becomes sitting up, becomes crawling, becomes walking, preschool, junior high, high school, then college. At that point, we have learned to endure the days, months, years of sameness by leapfrogging from one experience to another, losing the days between. The time comes when we stand at the end and look back and wonder where did the time go? How did we come to be here, kissing that wobbly-headed baby goodbye and turning back to an empty room? Wasn't it just <i>yesterday</i> that they were born?<br />
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This is by no means the only such journey that we undertake. We have marriage, school and running a business or working at a job. What each of these journeys have in common is the experience of feeling as if progress comes incredibly slowly while we are in the midst of it, only to look back and see two things, simultaneously. First, we see the personal growth and change that occurred through the trek. Secondly, once we have arrived at our destination, we notice that the trip seems to have just begun.<br />
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We are pretty familiar with these kinds of journey at our home. We have raised five of our twelve children to adulthood--yet those baby pictures seem as though they were taken just yesterday! We homeschooled each of these children and are close to graduating our sixth 100% homeschooled student--yet we remember the challenges of phonics and learning place value. We have been married for thirty years, next month--yet I still seem to feel our hands trembling as we slid those rings on each other's fingers as if it happened this morning. We have been busy building a farm and it many days it seems as though the grinding nature of farming has stretched each day into a week, each month into a year, so that the process has taken an incredibly long time--yet it seems as if it was just yesterday that we walked the land unsure as to where we should build the first barn.<br />
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This most recent life journey of our family, particularly our family farm, really took us by surprise and hit us hard. We had been deep in the living day by day aspect of the journey, changing course as needed, but never doubting that the trek would take us to where we had planned to go. This all changed, when suddenly we were forced to look up and we realized that the steps had taken us from our charted course until we were not even certain that we could see our destination. It was as if we were lost in the fog and not even sure that we would be able to make it back to our original path! All we knew was that we had given our hearts and our hands to laboring to build something special and now we faced seeing it all slip away.<br />
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It didn't, of course. We learned that some in whom we had placed our trust were not worthy of that trust--but we also learned that there were many others who believed in us and supported us. We learned that while we will never be the same, we have learned that we are far stronger than we ever imagined. We learned that the bitterness at looking back at the journey can swept away by the hesitant joy of looking forward to a new beginning. Mostly we have learned that life cannot be lived by simply struggling to get through the journey, but that the journey is best lived by seizing life and joy with both hands and not letting go, regardless of how dark the storm clouds may seem.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><i><br /></i></span>LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-81373038667003590202015-04-16T10:08:00.000-05:002015-04-16T11:35:20.428-05:00What Happens when the Local Food Movement Turns Against Itself?<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">In Henry IV, Part One, Shakespeare tells the story of a rebellion turned against itself. Bolingbroke and his compatriots were successful in overthrowing the king of England. Things should have been looking rosy for the new king, Henry IV, but instead he finds himself facing threats from a very unexpected quarter. It seems that his brothers in arms, those with whom he set out to create a new land, had turned against him. Why?</span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 1.38;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, for the very reasons that one might predict. They disagreed with how the new king was conducting affairs, which evolved into the most basic of motivations--jealousy and competition. </span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Why have plays such as this continued to resonate with audiences? After all, very few of us are actually kings, or hope to be! They continue to speak to people because kings or not, the experience of fighting the good fight, only to find yourself at odds with the very people with whom we have fought that fight is almost universal.</span><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For us at Swede Farm, nothing has brought this experience into sharp focus as has this fundraiser. When we began the dairy, it was with two goals. The first was to provide for our family. The second was to, by succeeding, help further the revolution against big agriculture and a factory farm system of food production. We wanted to see more people aware of small-scale, sustainable agriculture and the importance of supporting local farms and local farming communities. We were not alone, there were others in the fight, and we wanted to see the numbers swell even further. Our mission statement from the very beginning has stated that we wanted to share freely with others, we were open to supporting and mentoring those who would stand with us in the fight and work to provide local food to our surrounding communities. In the beginning, the battle was glorious and empowering, full of the excitement of shared goals. We saw successes and the future seemed bright. Then, there began to be signs of discontent. In the beginning, differences were overlooked as we each took a different front in the battle. We were at war with an entrenched system and each farm was a battlefront. As the months stretched into years and the reality of fighting a battle that was muddy, bloody and long took it’s toll, these differences began to take on a bigger meaning. Instead of the differences of each farm being seen as a different way of waging war against the common enemy, the differences came to be seen as proof that the other farms were, in fact, the enemy. The sense that there was only one way to wage battle turned the fight into cannibalism, each farm seeking to undermine the other. </span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We cannot get away from the reality that there will always be some measure of competition. In order for small farms to survive, they will be fighting, at least in the beginning, for the same food dollars. What we absolutely cannot forget is that when we turn that fight inward towards each other in competition, we lose the ability to fight against our common enemy. Each battle won against “big ag” and the established way of bringing food to the public brings more converts, which translates to more money and security to small farms. Each farm that comes under attack due to backstabbing in the name of competition means that the battle for sustainable agriculture is weakened. We will not all fight in the same way and how we do business will reflect this--but we cannot forget that other small farms are not the enemy! Our fundraiser was not begun (contrary to what some have said) in order to persevere over our local food competition. Our fundraiser was begun so that we would be able to remain in business precisely because we feel that our farm is not just about providing for our family, but also about a bigger battle being waged. We had other jobs and careers long before we began farming. From pension administration to midwifery, we have always provided for our family. We did not leave these careers for farming in order to become wealthy, we did it because we believed in teaching our children how to be self-reliant and we believed that change needed to take place in how our nation sees farming and community. We do not desire to win over our local competition, nor do we desire to keep others out of the local food market. More successful farms translates to more stable food markets which means a better chance of retaining consumers. More consumers converted to shopping locally means more chance of success for new local farms. Each local farm that goes belly-up does not mean more customers for the farms that remain, it means a lessening in the collective power of the movement. Is gaining a short-term battle for an individual farm worth risking the overall war? </span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We do not think so, and we are thankful for our supporters who seem to agree with us. </span><span style="line-height: 1.38;">May we never forget, as did those who fought with Henry IV seemed to do, that winning a small battle may come at the risk of losing the bigger war.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">http://www.gofundme.com/czsu9o</span></span></h2>
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LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-23965054227288238002015-03-28T14:23:00.002-05:002015-03-28T14:26:22.819-05:00The Beast<br />
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Something a little different--as I have mentioned on here, I have returned to school to get a degree in English, specifically, creative writing. My heart's desire is to take it further, to a Masters degree. This has proven to be a challenge for me as I have spent so many years writing what is now known as "creative non-fiction". I am enjoying every step of the way, though, and relish the opportunity to improve my skills. In the past few years I have done very little on this blog. Well, I decided that since so much of my time has been spent writing for my class, I should share some of that writing here, where so many have encouraged me in my writing endeavors. So, here ya go, my first assignment in my first official "Creative Writing" class. I hope you enjoy...<br />
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<b>The Beast</b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He didn’t know what jolted him awake, he only knew was that she was gone. He called out her name as his eyes scanned the room, not really focusing on anything in his panic. His breath sounded harsh and ragged in his ears and he could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. He called again, in desperation, “Claire!”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Footsteps sounded in the hall, then she rounded the corner, flying through the doorway. “What?! What’s wrong?!”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He looked at her wordlessly, drinking her in. He gulped for air, each searing breath bringing him back to now, away from the terror of his dream until he was able to answer “I…you…I don’t know. You were gone.” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He could tell from the way her mouth quirked that she was biting back a joke and he was grateful. The panic was still over him like a mantle and he was not sure how he would have taken condescension, still, the predictable everyday flavor of the action helped bring him even more into the day. He said helplessly “I guess it was just a dream”. He felt stupid for behaving like a little kid and wished he knew why his gut still twisted. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Later at the table she toyed with her spoon. He knew that she wanted to ask how he was feeling, the fiddling was a certain tell that there was something on her mind, but he did not feel like going into it. He looked away, towards the window through which the </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.2; text-indent: 14pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">sunbeams streamed that held the dust captive. His eyes traveled the light as it slanted through the air past the table and back again, back and forth, not looking out the window. “You running by yourself today?” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Mmm” he answered with an absent minded nod.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You ok? I mean, you gonna to be ok to run?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes” he snapped “It was just a dream, for crying out loud.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Whoa!” she put up both hands “I was just worried about you, ok? No need to get nasty, excuse me for caring.” She pushed back her chair, standing abruptly. Shaking her head as she wheeled around to cross the kitchen with her coffee cup, she set it down next to the sink. He could tell that she was hurt by the way her chin jutted out. He sighed. Dang, she was so moody these days.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Running was a good amnesiac. As each foot pounded the pavement he could feel the anxiety slowly slipping away to be replaced by the mundane. Might. Need. New. Shoes. Need. To. Re-search. Wonder. Dinner. Tonight. Claire. Still. Mad?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He stood in the shower and the water streamed down his back, steam rising. She hadn’t been at home when he got back from running. He thought that she had mentioned needing to run some errands. He guessed that she would be home by dinner time, she always was. Then they could go out. She would be home by then…certainly she would. He felt the uncertainty knot in his stomach and he shook his head. Of course she would be home. She was probably home already, he wouldn’t have heard her coming in over the water. He dried off, the steam making rivers that ran through the mirror. He gave a quick swipe of the towel on the mirror but it fogged up as quickly as the towel left the glass. He felt the tension grow at the inability to see clearly in the mirror. He shook his head, water splattering the mirror and walls and growled at himself as he wrapped the towel around his hips. What was wrong with him? The knot grew, tightening into a fist that began almost to hurt. His heartbeat grew louder in his ears, picking up tempo. The fear grew palpable, something unnamed crouching in the corner waiting to strike. He bolted for the door and flung it open, calling out “Claire?!” His voice sounded muffled in their bedroom and his desperate footsteps consumed the distance to the bedroom door. He grabbed at the doorknob, his panic growing as his hands slipped on the slick metal until it turned and he propelled himself out into the hallway, calling again, “</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Claire?!!” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Silence. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Down the hall he pounded, the beast hard on his heels. He burst into the den and rushed to the window, faster, faster, the lamp toppled from the table as he shoved aside the blinds to look outside. Nothing. No car, not even people on the quiet street. He placed both hands on the cool glass, the slick cold jarring after the suffocation of the steamy bathroom. He rested his forehead on the glass beside his hands and drew a deep and shuddering breath.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He did not know how long he stood there. He was not aware when the shift occurred, he only knew that it did. No longer being chased, the cold window slipped from a lifeline into clammy shame. He felt the leg of the table pressing uncomfortably against his own. He had not been aware when it turned over. His eyes became seeing once more and he saw the car with the familiar dent turn the corner and pull into the driveway and he felt rather than heard the garage door beneath him slide open. He looked around, embarrassed, and grabbed the table, setting it upright and scrambled to replace the lamp. He eyed it critically and rotated it so that the crease on the shade faced the street and bolted back to the bedroom.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He heard her call out that she was home and he called back to her. He looked around the bedroom quickly—all seemed normal. He ducked into the bathroom, keeping the door open, and looked around, Brush teeth? Shave? Shave. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Razor in hand, he looked in the mirror. He didn’t </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">look </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">like a man who had just battled with…what? He looked again, deeper. Was he going crazy? She stepped into the bathroom and he whirled stepping towards her as he reached out. Pulling her to him, he buried his face in her hair. “Mmm, you smell good.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She laughed and pushed him away. “Stop it, you nut, you’re getting me wet!” Hands on his shoulders, she held him at a distance while searching his face critically. “You ok?” she asked.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Because I think you smell good?” he retorted, finding safety in the familiar banter. “Because you look good? Because you </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">feel </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">good?” he grinned as his hands slid down her back until they reached her waistband. Hooking his thumbs inside the fabric, he moved his hands around her waist, tugging as they reached the front so that she fell into him. She hugged him back and he repeated “but you </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">do </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">smell good.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They went to their favorite Middle Eastern place, with the falafel as dry and crumbly as old play-doh but with soft and fluffy pita bread. They made it fresh here, they could watch from their table, if they wanted to, but they looked at each other, instead. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So, what do you think?” she asked. He looked at her. His mind was blank, he was so tired. He tried to grasp at words, but they spun, swirling away. “Well…?” She prompted.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I don’t know.” He finally managed to grasp at the desired words. “Tell me the details again.” She sighed in exasperation. He could tell that she was impatient, that this was important to her, but his brain felt like the thickest mud and he was unable to think clearly. All he knew was that she was going away.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“…Should only be four weeks, six max. I was thinking that maybe you could join me for part of the time? I would have to work, but not every day and we could explore together. It has been so long since we took a trip and you do have several weeks vacation time coming…?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He sighed. “I don’t know. When do you have to let them know?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She dropped her eyes to her plate. “Well…”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He drew in his breath sharply. “You already took it, didn’t you? You already said yes. Dammit, Claire…”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What?!”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He just shook his head in disgust, not meeting her indignant face but looking at a distant point over her shoulder</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Why are you so upset? I have taken trips like this before, you have never had problems with it in the past, why shouldn’t I take it?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It didn’t occur to you to consider my feelings on the matter? That’s not cool. I wouldn’t do that to </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">you.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, I wouldn’t keep you from going, either!” she looked away. He couldn’t read if she was hurt or being stubborn—she did both with total abandon. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Look. Its not that I don’t want you to go.” As he said the words he knew they were a lie. “Its just…” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Come with me! We can make a fantasy of it!”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I can’t. Maybe. No, I probably can’t” he shook his head “I have work…” He tried to ignore the growing feeling of dread. Why did she have to go? He realized that he was clenching his jaw and made a conscious effort to relax. “Look. We can talk about it tomorrow, see what we can work out then.” He made an effort to catch her gaze as he forced a grin. “Ok?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They drove home in silence. He was sure that she was working on new ways of framing the argument, but he didn’t care, he appreciated the respite. He didn’t have an answer as to why he didn’t want her to go, he just knew that he didn’t. It had just been a crappy, weird day all the way around, this didn’t help him feel any more settled. He hated feeling weak and uncertain, but he just did not feel settled about this. She was right, he knew, she had taken trips like this before and they were good at turning them into fun as well as work, but all he knew for sure was that the thought of her going caused the gnawing feeling to grow and his breath to catch in his throat. What was wrong with him? This was crazy! He shook his head to clear his thoughts and she turned to look at him quizzically. He didn’t return her gaze and after a few minutes she turned to look out the window. Silence lay between them in bed as he turned his back to her, lying on his side. He could tell by her restlessness that she wanted to talk, but he did not trust himself to talk and he did not offer the opportunity, feigning sleep. He listened to her breathing as it slowed and settled as she finally slipped into sleep. As he heard her soft snoring begin, he heard the familiar creak and crack of the beams in the attic. He knew this familiar sound well, it was as comforting as an old pair of sweats but tonight it seemed foreign. He heard the tapping of the branch on the window—another familiar noise. He laid, waiting. He had the sense that something was watching, something living and breathing, something foreign. Something malevolent. He listened, talking himself down with each creak and tap. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That’s the branch. Just the branch. Why didn’t I do something about it last Fall when Claire asked me to. There. That’s the joist upstairs. And again.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Finally he slept.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He called her, but she did not answer. He searched the house, opening each door, door after door, in endless number, each time calling out “Claire, you there?” Each time, silence answered, but not really silence, Behind the silence he could hear it growing, the rushing sound like wind, the sound of emptiness. Now he was running, slamming into the doors, one after another, the noise pursuing him. He tried looking over his shoulder. He could see nothing in the dark, but he felt it. He was the prey and he was desperate. He whirled around to face it and was overcome. It was on him, putrid breath and foul, the sound of each breath snarling in his ears and he shrieked. He curled in a ball to protect himself, shaking uncontrollably, yelling out against the darkness “ClaireClaireClaireClaire!”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And she was there. He felt her in the darkness and then a great flooding light. She was over him, kneeling by his side, looking down, alarm on her face. He bolted upright in bed, pushing her to the side and looked around with wide eyes, the room unfamiliar. He stared at her, panting. She reached out for him and he started away, but she grasped his arm and gave it a shake. “Hey. It’s OK. I’m here.” She brushed his hair from his forehead and looked at him with an inscrutable look, repeating “It’s ok”. He slumped forward, into her and she wrapped her arms around him. “Shhh” They rocked like that for what seemed hours. He laid down and curled up and she curled around him </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“shhh. It’s just a dream.” He felt the warmth of her breath on his back. He relaxed behind her comforting walls.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And the beast waited.</span></div>
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LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-57065467563807785472015-02-20T12:24:00.003-06:002015-05-14T19:35:12.254-05:00Community, Locality and Legacy<div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They stand before us each week at market, nervously twisting their hands and confessing to us their greatest longing. They want to be goat farmers. Their visions are of wrapping their hands around a teat filled with milk, eating meals of crusty bread and cheese that they, themselves have made and watching with delight as a baby goat takes it's first faltering steps. We know that should their dream become reality it will also include putting up fences and staying up late nights with a doe in labor, only to greet the morning with burying a baby too weak to ever see daylight.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They come burned out by graduate school, tired of the corporate grind or disillusioned by what they have come to see as the empty promises of a society built on capitalism. They have invested years of their lives to jockeying and scrambling amongst the hordes for the elusive spot in the perfect school, the raise or promotion that will deliver happiness, only to find themselves facing emptiness despite having reached that goal. When they find themselves looking into that emptiness and asking "what now?" they look for the something to bring value and meaning to their lives.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We have a country but we don't have community. Our roles in society are carefully defined; we have the service industry, a public service sector, manufacturing. We are aware of where we stand in a society based on monetary value, what we do not have is an understanding of our intrinsic value on a human level. We brush against people in transitory relationships; co-workers move on as circumstances change, we shop at stores with an ever-revolving supply of cashiers, we no longer have a doctor, we have a health plan. Without relationship to shape our actions and interactions we rely on company policy and a dizzying assortment of governmental mandates such as HIPAA, HACCP, OSHA. Where policy fails, we fall back to cost/benefit analysis. We buy our tomatoes from the store that promises the best quality for the lowest price. The store buys it's tomatoes from the farm that promises the greatest quantity for the lowest price with a seamless delivery system. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Could we fathom a work environment allowing for nonchalant disregard for health and safety if the person working there was our child or our neighbor? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Would we reduce the value of the callouses on our tomato farming-neighbor's hands if we saw them daily as they battle drought and too-short days?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We turn to rule and law to give form to a society that has lost it's soul. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What our would-be farmers are looking for are not dirty and calloused hands or that elusive perfectly aged goat cheese. What they are longing for is an intrinsic value to their very lives. The reality is that modern society, and it's driving force, consumerism, is a "one night stand". They want community, locality and legacy. These are not found in rules, but in relationship, long term relationship. This comes only when we plant ourselves deep within a community, putting down roots that can withstand drought and buffeting wind and frost. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How do we know? Because we have lived this transformation. </span><span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we married, neither of us knew how to put down roots, we were sceptical of their value and yet the vague longing remained. We bought a house in the city, declaring here we would live and die, these would be our roots. We felt that the roots were truly the family, the house was simply where we planted. When we did move to the country, it was in search of nothing more than increased space and freedom to play for our children. What we discovered in the country was the timeless realization that man and land are inextricably linked. We are working and moving in unison with a living breathing part of creation and it is humbling to be able to partake. We realize that it is not simply the land that is being redeemed and brought to fruitfulness, the land itself is doing that same work in us. We are putting down roots that are more than metaphoric in nature. We are being grounded in work that has eternal value. We were created to transform this part of creation and be transformed by the labor of doing so. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In this transformation we have learned the undeniable inherent value of living and working in community with others who labor to bring forth food. We have learned of the almost spiritual union that occurs between those who plant and those who eat--when the production of food has not been reduced to being a mere commodity. We have learned that there is much in community relationship that feeds the soul and without feeding the soul as well as the body, people die, never having learned to live. We moved to the country, to a way of living that was as foreign to us as if we had moved to another hemisphere. We grew to trust and depend upon those for whom this was how life had always been. We asked advice about topics that previously had been mere curiosities, such as when to plant peas and how to maintain a septic system. Laughing, they corrected our mistakes and they guided us in ways we had no idea that we needed. They gave advice and they shared in the joys and struggles of our little farm. They also shared stories that became heartbreaking to me of the community in decades gone by...of the dairies in the county that once numbered well over a hundred, now reduced to a mere handful. They spoke of the grain mills lost due to lack of business, the family farms sold and parceled due to a lack of interest in continuing the family heritage of farming. We were seeing how vital farms are to communities as we heard of once strong communities being incrementally swept away by each generation's tide of migration to the city. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We considered the migration that had been made to the city. The city had held out promises of hope and new beginnings, of innovation and excitement. What the city had delivered instead was a devaluing of the very things that make us human. Now we see, each week, a growing groundswell of disillusionment and a desire to return to a life more substantively lived.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Can a migration away from the city return that which has been lost? Can community be restored and a people regain their soul?</span></div>
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LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-15084307994343510572015-01-26T07:58:00.002-06:002015-02-20T12:27:57.738-06:00Survival Mode<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Tis a real problem...</td></tr>
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Those who follow this infrequently updated blog will know that we have been in a struggle for survival. We found ourselves facing losing the dairy in August and with our backs against the wall, we began an fundraising campaign. The campaign has done well. We were honest with our struggles and we were blessed beyond all expectation by the outpouring of support, both emotional and financial. <br />
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Due to circumstances beyond our control (dang goats having different ideas than ours regarding when they want to get pregnant and deliver babies!), the fundraiser needed to be extended beyond the original goal of December. We are now in the last stretch. Our goats are bred, and once they have their babies, we will be able to once again begin making product and going to markets. Unfortunately, we face the challenge of needing to get from here to there. The funds raised up to this point have helped us dig out from the debts of three months of no income. They have allowed us to buy some new goats that enabled us to continue going to markets through mid-December. They provided for the renewal of our cheese license. We are now at the end of January--with approximately two more months before the goats will be in reliable production so that we can close down the fundraiser and stand o our own two feet once more. In order get from now to then our older daughters (who would normally be helping milk goats, make cheese, go to market and make restaurant deliveries) have taken jobs off the farm, which has kept the electricity on and the phones working. LeeAnne has been a full time student at the University of Houston, preparing for the next stage of the farm--sharing the story with a wider audience. Tim has been holding home and hearth together and teaching the littles. Even without goats to milk and cheese to make and sell, we have been very busy--but we continue to face some significant challenges. Between now and then we have goats to feed to the tune of a couple hundred of dollars, weekly. We have to pay taxes on the farm so that we can keep the land that we depend upon. Honestly? It seems incredibly daunting and once again we feel as if we are looking into the abyss and wondering if this is "it", time to pull the plug.<br />
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Two things keep us going.<br />
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The first is the recent pregnancy test tests that show us that if we can just make it from <i>here </i>to <i>there</i>, we should be ok. There are not words for the emotional shot in the arm that we received when we saw "Nutmeg...pregnant. Lucchese...pregnant. Trinity...pregnant" and so on.<br />
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The second is the support that we have received up to this point. Almost three hundred people have put their faith in us. By donations ranging from $10 to $1000 they have voted that we keep up the fight. Their voices ring in our heads during the dark hours of doubt, providing the light by which to see to take the next step.<br />
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So, we will keep going--if we at all can. This is begging at the most basic level. Our fight is not over. We have to keep those pregnant goat bellies fed. <i>We</i> can live on beans and rice, we have many times in the past--but we <i>must</i> keep the goats fed and their diets are more particular than ours. So we ask...if there is anyway that you can make a donation at the link below, or share our story with someone else who can, we would be incredibly appreciative.<br />
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<a href="http://www.gofundme.com/czsu9o">http://www.gofundme.com/czsu9o</a><br />
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Thank you~<br />
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The Carlson Clan; Tim, LeeAnne, Katarina, Christin, Grace, Sara, Linnea, Emma, Timothy, Liberty, Noah, Judah Seth and, of course, Dixie!<br />
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& the goats of Swede Farm...Trinity, Lucchese, Nutmeg, La Bahia, Bluebonnet, Lottie, Margaret Houston, Miss Muffet, Maypearl and the rest of the working ladies here on the farm!LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-53694378994923090892014-10-16T15:38:00.000-05:002015-02-20T12:26:08.075-06:00Living in Liminal Time<br />
We have all experienced them; those moments when we feel ourselves to be balanced on a threshold, behind us the familiar and before us the future. No matter how much we may desire to leave the familiar behind for the opportunities of the future, it is uncharted, unknown and dark. "Limen" is Latin, for threshold. Thus, "liminal" or "liminality" comes to refer to the state of being at a threshold or transition point in our lives.<br />
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I don't know about you, but in my experience, such times of liminality are rarely managed gracefully. We may long for this threshold, we may desire the transition with everything in our being, but when we find ourselves actually balanced in that time, we freeze, we fight, we stumble and even tumble over that threshold with anything but composure and finesse. <br />
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As a midwife I have been privileged to be the guide for many such times. Labor obviously poses a threshold for the infant being born, but it poses a time of transition for the mother as well. Each contraction brings her closer and closer to the unknown. When the baby slips out, the woman will be reborn herself. She may become a mother for the first time, or she may become a mother of two, three or more and with each additional child, the universe of her life shifts. She is not only absorbing that shift for herself, but she also will be the guide as her family shifts to accept the new life as well.<br />
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As a mother I have seen this threshold time as well. A toddler is much less discrete as he makes his way through times of transition. They embrace the change with gusto--and they let the whole world know when this transition does not go as they wish. They want to crawl--but eat carpet instead. They want to strike out for lands unknown--on their own two feet--and find themselves ignominiously on their face. Everyone around knows that they are hammering at that threshold by their cries and that they have broken through by their smiles. The foot stomping declarations of independence are born by times of liminality and demand to be appreciated and respected.<br />
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Our family has had several members choose hospice care in our home. Having sat at the bedside by family members as they passed from life through the limen that is death is a humbling and sacred experience. In each case that I have been blessed to participate, it has been accompanied by a deep and abiding grace.<br />
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I now find myself in my own time of liminality, standing at the threshold of changes that will shape the direction of my own life as well as that of my family and our farm. In returning to school, I knew that there would be changes in our daily schedule and how the farm would function. What I was not expecting was that becoming a student would change how I saw myself, my farm and even my family. The decision for me to return to school was made as a family. It was not an isolated consideration; it is part of a plan for the next stage of the farm. We desire to share our story and what we have learned on a wider scale and returning to school to further refine my writing is a significant part of this plan. <br />
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I know where I have been, I have been fulfilled and satisfied by my role as a midwife, as a farmer, as a homeschooling mother. I see where I am going. I look forward to developing my role as a student and, ultimately, as a published writer.<br />
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What I am struggling to grasp is this time of transition. It has proven very difficult to relinquish some of the control on the farm and especially to turn over responsibility for the homeschooling of our children. Going to markets was, for several years, a huge part of my identity and a part that I cherished. I <i>cannot</i> have it all. I cannot give my all to being a successful student and continue going to every market. I must learn to trust my adult children to manage the dairy and cheese making processes on their own. I miss those things, the myriad events that shaped my days. I miss the excitement in my children's eyes when they learn something new and I am jealous that it has been distilled down to being greeted at the door with a replica of a Viking ship crafted from tree bark and sticks and scraps of fabric.<br />
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And yet...I love having my own excitement of learning. I am really enjoying the days when one of my older daughters comes to class with me and we discuss the lectures on the way home. I am finding very precious--although somewhat fragile--my new identity not only as a student but as a writer.<br />
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So why do I find myself wanting to stomp my foot like the toddler over every bump in the road and every step taken further away from where I have been towards my new life?<br />
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I think it comes in the very definition of liminality. Transitions are <i>supposed</i> to be hard-fought. I know from an exquisitely intimate knowledge of labor that the hardest point of the process is even called "transition". Even in those transitions that seem effortless, such as the graceful deaths that we have experienced in our own home, there were inner battles waged beforehand to gain acceptance of the limen that must be crossed alone. It also comes in facing the unknown. I thought I was prepared for the process of going to school. What I did not know was how hard it would be to give up control and the intimate knowledge of every moment of my children's lives. Now these facts must be faced. I do not give up such things easily (hence the foot stomping!) and I no longer have the comfort of denial that it will be difficult. <br />
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Comfort comes in having been here before. I have lived in liminal time. There is no escaping the process of transition, of adjustment. The challenge comes in learning to embrace the process of crossing over instead of simply grasping greedily for the destination. I know that it will seem new, hard, frustrating and scary--until one day we look up and the new will no longer be new, but will instead simply <i>be</i>.<br />
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Until that time, we live in liminality.LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-28055750952696547772014-08-15T09:31:00.001-05:002014-08-15T09:36:20.337-05:00Saving Swede Farm Dairy<i><br /></i>
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<i>We have been asked what people can do to help. This is very hard for us; we moved to the farm to teach our children how to be self-sufficient and to find ourselves in the place of needing to ask for help is <b>very</b> difficult. The fact remains, however, that unless we <b>do</b> ask for help, the farm that we have built together with our children will not be here for us to pass on to our children. We have set up a <a href="http://www.gofundme.com/czsu9o">campaign</a> to help save our farm and we would appreciate everyone who cares about our situation to sharing this with others. </i><br />
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<i><br /></i>LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-12148236273245009352014-08-12T20:20:00.000-05:002014-10-02T17:09:56.586-05:00Don't Let Your Children Grow Up to be Farmers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is not unusual to see our children "selling" product at impromptu "farmers markets" that they set up around the property. In the picture that accompanies this blog post, Seth doggedly sells his products. At this market he sold rocks, popsicle sticks and apparently gave away copies of <a href="http://www.edibleaustin.com/">"Edible Austin"</a>. I am unsure as to whether the goat milk in the picture was for sale or simply being consumed.<br />
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When we see a tableau such as this it never fails to bring a smile to our faces. Look, he wants to be a farmer, just like Mommy and Daddy! Wow, a salesman at only six years old! Way to go, Sethy, show your pride in your product!<br />
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It appears that we were misinformed parents. According to an opinion piece in the New York Times titled <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/08/10/opinion/sunday/dont-let-your-children-grow-up-to-be-farmers.html?_r=0">"Don't Let Your Children Grow Up to Be Farmers"</a> we learn that the median farm income for 2012 was $1,453. Oh wait. That is <b>negative</b> $1,453. <br />
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Everything in me rebels against this. It must be that these farmers simply do not know how to price their products appropriately. Maybe this is for big agribusiness farmers who are too far in debt or who simply worked the wrong side of the margins. Perhaps this is for farmers who are too far away from a large enough city to support viable farmers markets and thus have to sell wholesale to processors. <br />
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We, however, are in a better situation than this. We know better than to sell at wholesale. We do not have a middleman. We are not hugely in debt--in fact we do not even have a mortgage. We do not price our product by comparing our prices to those at a big box store, we crunch the numbers and determine a price based upon what it costs us to produce the product. One place where we do not do as well is in feeling comfortable enough to raise our prices higher than what it costs in order to pay ourselves a reasonable wage--but we are working on it! We knew that our success would be dependent upon cultivating a niche market and exquisite customer service, which we pride ourselves on having done. All of this brilliance means that now, as we approach our sixth year anniversary as a dairy crafting artisanal goat dairy products, I just had to text one of our long-time customers that we likely would not be at one of our markets on Saturday...because we may not have the gas money. We do have $80 in our pocket, but we are also overdrawn at the bank. <br />
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There are a lot of reasons for this, I can console myself. We dried off most of our goats in order to have them newly fresh in milk in November--and we have no control over the fact that the milk that we buy to supplement our supply became unavailable with no warning. This left us with barely one fourth of the milk that we usually have at our disposal. We face a string of very costly automotive repairs at the same time as fall tuition is due for my return to the University of Houston to study Creative Writing. Due to an employer unwilling to provide needed accommodations for health reasons, Tim is not longer working his part-time gig that provided health insurance for the family and, well, healthcare and medications can add up quickly for a family of 14. Wah, wah, wah. <br />
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As I start to become embarrassed over my pity party, I find myself becoming angry, instead. I was raised that adults put their heads down and worked. You don't share your hardships, shhh, everyone has them. It is shameful to discuss them because we are self-sufficient, you see. We aren't like <i>them</i>, the poor people across town, because <i>we</i> work hard! Come to think of it, those "poor people" across town would have likely been...the farmers. Were they, also, poor because they found themselves in conditions that they were unprepared for, despite their best attempts to prevent such conditions? <br />
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As I read the article in the New York Times, I find myself nodding and becoming even more angry. The piece references several reasons why the small niche farmer cannot make it these days, from non-profits, to hobby farmers and even the vaunted farm-to-table chefs. I know these people, I can give you proper names to go with the nouns. I sell next to them at markets and to them when we make deliveries after markets. I cannot be angry at the chefs who buy my product and the earnest young (salaried) faces working for the non-profit farm that teaches agriculture to inner-city students. I cannot have disdain towards the retiree now following his dream to grow organic veggies--even if he can afford to sell them at a loss because his retirement account meets all his needs. We, too, appreciated our retirement accounts, meager though they were. The last one was cashed out last month to help cover animal feed expenses.<br />
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So what am I angry at? I guess myself. Did I buy a lie? Is what we want even possible? I wrack my brain. Is there <i>anyone</i> who is "doing it", who started a farm and is supporting a family with children with that farm without a trust fund or massive cash settlement of some kind?<br />
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I could not think of a single one that I know personally. Some have a successful farm--but a spouse that works in town. Some have a retirement account. I know several who sold their successful business and used the proceeds from that to fund their farm. In every case I could think of, farmers with families were not truly supporting their families with the farm, they were either relying on a second income in addition to the farm or they were flat out draining those additional sources of income to cover for the fact that the farm was losing money faster than my children come running for the table when dinner time is called.<br />
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And that just seems <i>wrong</i>. I do not expect to be rich, but I would like to not be overdrawn at the bank more often than not. Whatever happened to the idea of working together with our children to produce food for ourselves and others and being rewarded with a sense of security? Why does it seem wrong that the people who do the work of farming, of being up at all hours to deliver baby goats, developing carpal tunnel by milking, having to deal with varied health inspectors should find it so hard? Oh yes, I remember! We farm for the love of it! <br />
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Well, we do. We farm for the satisfaction of eating food that we grew or made with our own two hands and for the joy of seeing our children learn to be strong and resilient. We farm for the joy of seeing a once sickly child become fat and healthy from drinking our milk. We farm for the sweetness of seeing people who visit arrive tense and stressed and leave full of wonderment at how it feels to simply <i>sit</i> and listen to the crickets and frogs and goats as dusk turns to dark and the bejeweled night sky dazzles. <br />
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It would simply be nice to have all this and not be in the red, as well.<br />
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I guess that is what "next year" is always about.<br />
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<i>Edited to add--</i><br />
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<i>We have been asked what people can do to help. This is very hard for us; we moved to the farm to teach our children how to be self-sufficient and to find ourselves in the place of needing to ask for help is very, <b>very</b> difficult. The fact remains, however, that unless we <b>do</b> ask for help, the farm that we have built together with our children will not be here for us to pass on to our children. We have set up a <a href="http://www.gofundme.com/czsu9o">campaign</a> to help save our farm and we would appreciate everyone who cares about our situation to sharing this with others. </i><br />
<br />LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-34277742665828913032014-08-11T17:05:00.001-05:002014-08-11T17:07:10.198-05:00Playing in Our Own Home Town!<br />
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Once upon a time, I wrote a blog. This one, in fact. As Robert Frost penned, "way leads on to way" and it has been a very long time since I have been back.</div>
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Well, I am back.</div>
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Those readers of the "once upon a time" blog may remember that a movie was filmed on our property. You may also recall that it had its world premiere at the Cannes Film Festival. It went on to festivals in Mexico City, Stockholm, Leipzig, Geneva, Seville, Lisbon, London, Sydney, Toronto, Munich, Torino, Duluth, San Francisco, Little Rock, New York City and many more. It has won numerous awards including the Golden Dove for Best International Documentary in Leipzig, Germany, and the David di Donatello, essentially the Italian Oscar for best Documentary. The best part of all of this has been that members of the Carlson family were able to represent the film at several of these festivals--nine thus far in the past fifteen months.</div>
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And now...Houston.</div>
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"Stop The Pounding Heart" played to a sold-out theater at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. It was nerve-wracking to play in our home town, before people who know us--or think that they know us. Although the film was very positively received in Europe, in San Francisco we had some rather antagonistic responses and so this made me nervous. The fact that we were also planning to attend with all twelve of our children was also a bit anxiety-provoking!</div>
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In the end, it went very well. Sold out the first night, a very respectable showing the second night. Question and Answer sessions went very well both nights, and it was all the more enjoyable when some of the questions came from those who already knew us but were learning a different side of us, such as the Associate Pastor of our church. </div>
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Now the plan is to get this thing shown in Austin. Maybe then we can rest and stop globetrotting. It is <b>so</b> tiring... <i>yeah right.</i></div>
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Usually when I write about our second son Noah, it is to share one of the escapades that has earned him the nickname "Destructo". Noah's adventures are legendary and he has garnered his own followers who ask at every market "what did Noah do <i>this</i> week?" Noah is a young man of many talents. When Noah isn't taking something apart such as the station wagon headlights or random doorknobs or defying death by climbing on the roof or rappelling up forty foot trees in order to reach even higher trees, he is playing baseball.<br />
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Noah plays baseball as a fish might play at swimming or a bird play at flying. Noah lives and breathes baseball. Timothy could not wait until his little brother was old enough to play baseball and we had to convince him that it would be better if he waited until Noah was steady on his feet. Once Noah reached that stage, however, Timothy had a bat or glove in Noah's hand and the game was on. <br />
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Beginning your baseball career while still in diapers has it's perks, and Noah early on developed not only a true love for the game but also a very real talent for the game. I know that every mother thinks that their child is the best, the greatest to ever play the game so all I will say is that Noah took <i>this</i> mom from a long-suffering bleacher-sitter to an avid fan. He is usually one of the smallest kids on the team, but he is scrappy and daring. He seems to get an adrenaline rush from challenging the other team when running bases, always in their faces with his threats to steal. He takes it personally when the other team does likewise and makes it his personal goal to prevent extra bases from being taken. During one game last year I found myself watching him charging third base to hold a runner threatening to take off for home--and remember, he is the first baseman. Noah made the game fun to watch, even as a six year old and now that he is eight, I hate missing games. With our weekly markets it is unavoidable that mom and dad will miss games and we have had to be creative to ensure that Noah missed as few games as possible. One method we employed several times last season was to have older sister Katarina drop Noah and one of his other older sisters at the ballpark on Kate's way to markets in Houston--usually around 6:30 in the morning. They would bring books, snacks and the like, and simply "hang out" at the ball fields before the other players began arriving, ensuring that Noah would not have to miss games because mom and dad were in Austin at market.<br />
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This year, as last, Noah is on the Waller County All Star team, on first base. As this post is being written I am in Austin for market, and Noah is in Hempstead at a friend's house waiting to be taken to this afternoon's game. Last night when dropping him off at Matthew's house, Matthew's mother shared what happened the last time he stayed with them in order to have a ride to a game while we were manning markets.<br />
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It seems that Noah was awake at 5 for a game that began at 10. He was supposed to be at the field at 9 to warm up with the rest of the team. He as most insistent that Matthew's mom take him to the field early--he wanted to arrive while it was still dark. She was dumbstruck and firmly told him that no, she would take them to the game when it was <i>time</i> to take them to the game and that he could just be patient. He insisted that it was very important that he go early. She tried telling him what time it was, what time his game was to be, etc but he was unmoved. You see, he explained, he liked going early..<i>to listen to the fields</i>.<br />
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Apparently during those times when they were dropped off early and waited for the activities of the day to start, he would sit on the dark baseball diamond in the minutes before the sun came up. He would listen as the park went from quiet with just the occasional animal noise from the adjacent pastures to full volume as it filled up with children and their families. He watched the light change from country-dark to soft, sometimes fog filtered light, to bright morning. <br />
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<i>And he listened.</i><br />
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<br />LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-49943288590477879582013-04-18T05:42:00.003-05:002013-04-18T05:48:56.100-05:00Cannes<br />
Remember the <a href="http://dairyberries.blogspot.com/2012/07/filming.html">film</a> that was shot at the farm this past Summer, by our friend <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1667635/">Roberto Minervini</a>? Titled "Stop the Pounding Heart", it has been selected to be screened at <a href="http://www.imdb.com/news/ni51562798/">Cannes</a>. Oh my.<br />
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<br />LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-72921318157077063922013-04-09T07:13:00.000-05:002013-04-17T10:04:46.262-05:00A Year Later, Spring Still Comes.<br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">We recently received an email from someone in another state. She had recently re-read the <a href="http://dairyberries.blogspot.com/2012/02/truth-of-it-all-or-spring-always-comes.html">"Spring Always Comes" </a>post of February 7, 2012 and was wondering how we were doing after </span><i style="background-color: #fff2cc;">Our Most Difficult Winter</i><span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">. I often forget that people read this post that do not buy from us weekly at the markets. When customers buy weekly, they ask how the week went, they see first-hand how we are doing. Those who read the blog from far-flung locales such as Germany or New York are dependent upon the blog for updates and it seems we were due for one. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">I am sorry to say that even in the face of a heartfelt email of concern, that it took me a while to get back to the email. It took me a while to wrestle with how to answer. Once I started writing, the emotions sprang forth and the words flowed. And flowed. I think it was partially that it was cathartic, partially that it was good and right that we take the time to assess where we were, and what had transpired in the year since that brutal time. After the email reply was written, I sat and stared at the words that filled the screen...and knew that it needed to be a blog post.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">"Dear L~</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">I am sorry that it took me a while to get back to this email. In all honesty, I had to "chew" on it a while, to think through an answer! Partly my hesitation is because I do not know you, so how to phrase an answer that will explain without leaving you scratching your head? Much of our journey has been a spiritual one, and not knowing your spiritual background, much of this may not make sense! I decided to simply say it as if speaking to a friend across a cup of coffee. It may be uncomfortably intimate for you, so if you like, I can simply cut to the quick and say as we do to many who ask at our farmer's markets...we are recovering and have hope to continue doing so. The longer answer, however, reads something like this...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">We <i>have</i> been through rough times. A wise friend (our CPA and elder of the church that we went to for many years) always said that challenging times are the accumulating of "rich life experiences". Well, we have been provided with rich life experiences a-plenty. The grace in all of it is that while the rich life experiences can be exquisitely bloody and brutal, we have been blessed beyond measure to also see that they are exhilaratingly refining and transcendent in a way that is more precious than gold.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">Does this mean that we like being in the <span class="il">crucible</span>? Of course not, who would? But if the growing and the molding into who God would have us to be can only come at this cost, how can we turn from it? Not that I think we have much choice! I will say that I have been incredibly humbled by the response to the blog in general and by the posts about our struggles in specific. I confess that I often feel like a hypocrite, being in some ways on the blog an advocate for the mentally ill while most days I would prefer to rail, resent and hate mental illness and kick against the goads. Yet, just last week, a market vendor came to our tent and pulled me aside. She shared how she had struggled for years with depression and anxiety and that the blog and our honesty with sharing of the pain and challenges of being a family that deals with this on a daily basis gave her strength. More reminders that we are to be faithful and trust God with the results even when it doesn't make sense to me...but then I would suspect that Paul, the Jew of Jews, must have wondered at times why he was being used to minister to the gentiles.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">In the year or so since I first wrote the "Spring Always Comes" entry it has continued to be one of the most read posts on the blog. I do not know why. Writing the post was cathartic. We were only barely at a place of being able to see that dawn just <i>might</i> be creeping over the horizon. Writing it was as much a need to affirm our faith and stake our claim on the fact that we were looking to surviving and moving on, as it was a chance to honestly let our customers and friends know where we had been and where we were headed. We have continued the past year in a time of healing, but it has been slow and incremental. Tim has continued to work towards healing, both physically/mentally with the aid of medication and a fabulously skilled and Godly and committed therapist. This will likely (at the very least) be a reality of our life, if not for forever, at least for years. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">The family has continued to work towards adjusting to a chronic illness in the home, no less than if he had kidney disease and needed dialysis and accommodations for such an illness. We have, in many ways, had to learn a new 'normal' and accommodate honestly for changes that needed to take place in our home. We have had to honestly address the fact that there are areas where Tim, head of the household though he is, cannot function and for the good of everyone, family and business, we need to cover those areas. (paying bills, filing taxes are prime examples as we learned the hard way when the car insurance bill was allowed to slip and we discovered <i>after</i> an accident that we were not covered--yikes!) This has been a process of balancing each other's expectations and needs and will likely continue to be a process that we work through for some time. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">I have had to go through my own time of realizing that decades of being the strong fighter that barreled through life's challenges had taken it's toll. I began struggling with anxiety and some questioning of my own ability to rise to the challenge. As I told Tim, I had always thought of myself as the strong and capable one who could carry anything. Now, in many ways, I find myself feeling broken and incredibly weak. I spent months feeling "broken", as if those skills and strengths that God had given me had been shattered, that I had not been strong enough to carry what He had given me. I have only very recently realized that this is true--but by God's design, not by failure on my part. It is one thing to carry everything as a beast of burden might, looking back at it's 'driver' for direction as to which way to turn and this is how I had been functioning. Now I am coming to see that this sees my usefulness largely in my own strength. When my strength is gone, is my usefulness also gone? Now I see that my role is to not be the beast of burden (the ass, how apropos ;-) ), but more like the vessel that trusts the river and the captain to direct it's course. I have a role to play, to be sure, of providing protection to those inside the vessel, but that my purpose is to trust each day that I can relax in even unsettling currents because the captain is at the helm.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">On a business standpoint, if you have read the blog recently, we have some crazy busy developments. We are now not only milking our goats for our products, we are also <a href="http://dairyberries.blogspot.com/2012/11/hard-decisions.html">buying milk</a>. This has propelled us into involvement with the university dairy where we get our milk, and we have found it to be a way that God is moving us from running a business to provide for our family to being able to shape the future of small artisanal dairies across the country and this is so exciting! It has also allowed us to see our cheeses and other products in many restaurants in Houston and Austin as well as possibly in a few select stores. It has stretched us as we are busier than ever, work-wise but in ways that are very different for us and have somewhat of a learning curve. It is very different from our previous business model, and it was hard to make that paradigm shift, but again, just one more step in trusting that God's plans for us are not always what we anticipate and practically speaking, if we cannot trust Him as he moves us into new areas, then we are all talk and no walk! Things are changing so quickly for us, business-wise, that we have come to see it as a crazy roller-coaster ride. We have no idea how the ride will play out, except that we are pretty sure God does. Does He have us moving more to buying milk and selling at stores in order to increase our reach for the University? Because it will work better for us as a couple as our children move on to their own lives? Because it is easier to work into life if God has us focusing in other areas such as grandchildren, or even, dare I say, writing? We do not know, but we are now better at trusting that God does.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">~LeeAnne</span></div>
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LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-75293740508499573882013-04-04T06:48:00.002-05:002013-04-09T07:14:35.057-05:00Shameless Sales Blog<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxkQcXxbzF9-4yAjEJYqqMnfOdLXXtgei1nhCqNM9E4GPK9J-qtlzkMrQ_NQzKRo0SaxCdz9qyxOpCjLqSfhZOcrGWqdhxRnztt4ZhotYBW9OTyGS5ARbtcHJnEZJm4BC762rBbl-dWw/s1600/IMG_20130328_140549-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxkQcXxbzF9-4yAjEJYqqMnfOdLXXtgei1nhCqNM9E4GPK9J-qtlzkMrQ_NQzKRo0SaxCdz9qyxOpCjLqSfhZOcrGWqdhxRnztt4ZhotYBW9OTyGS5ARbtcHJnEZJm4BC762rBbl-dWw/s320/IMG_20130328_140549-1.jpg" width="239" /></a><span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">It's that time of year! The goats at Swede Farm are popping out babies and as you can see from the pictures they are already taking over! While we LOVE babies, the reality is that this is a working dairy and there are only so many that we can keep and this year we have decided to keep even less than in years past. When the baby goats become couch potatoes and hang out in the hallway it is time that they move along down the road.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">What does this mean?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">This means that those people who want a cute cuddly baby who will grow up to give them lots of fresh creamy milk have their chance--but the chance won't last forever, even kidding season comes to an end sooner rather than later.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">What we are offering are doelings (baby girls) that are between 1-2 weeks of age. These goats are still drinking bottles which will help in make sure that they are sweet and tame. Some of these babies will be American Dairy Goat Association registered purebred LaManchas from our <a href="http://adgagenetics.org/GoatDetail.aspx?RegNumber=L001526454">new senior herd sire</a>, and some are crosses between several different breeds of dairy goats, mostly Alpine and LaMancha, from some of our best producers. They are not purebreds but most will come with the papers necessary to register them with the <a href="http://adga.org/">American Dairy Goat Association</a>. This will allow you to show them in shows as "Recorded Grades". You will also receive our information packet walking you through the process of raising dairy goats from cute cuddle babies to professional working girls.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">These girls are for sale for $100. We believe that goats need goatie companionship (and odd Uncle Ernie doesn't count) so if you buy more than one we will reduce the price to $75 each.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">We also have for sale some does that were exposed to the buck and should have babies within the next month or two as well as a few goats that are already in milk. Price for the bred girls and milkers range from $200 for unregistered bred does to $400 for purebred does in milk. The only thing wrong with these girls is that we have a limited number of milk goats that we can keep and each year need to part with some of them. The $25 discount applies to these girls as well as to the babies.</span><br />
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<br />LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-37135342493246382202013-03-19T20:06:00.001-05:002013-04-04T11:56:52.507-05:00A picture is worth a thousands words<br />
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Sunday morning we opted to drive in to Houston for church in two vehicles with Tim, Christin, Sara and myself taking care of details at home before following the van. As we were climbing in the car I looked over and...</div>
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New piglets!<br />
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I sent Christin into the pen with my phone to take pictures and as she did so I turned to scan the front pasture, only to see...</div>
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Mystere was in labor! (The bubble is the amniotic sac, still unruptured)</div>
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Christin tossed me the phone that she had used to take the pictures and...</div>
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delivered two <i>beautiful</i> doelings!</div>
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She handed the first one to me over the fence and I set it down to run and get supplies for the second twin. When I returned I saw Sara's dog, Gunner, playing babysitter.</div>
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Then we had to retrieve the goats that had gone on walk-about while we were distracted and left the pasture gate open...</div>
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Needless to say, by now it was clear that we would not be making it to church on time. This did not mean that we would not be driving to Houston, because, you see, we had goats waiting for us!</div>
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After the goats had moved in to the Houston Livestock Show we had a momma decide that she was only willing to nurse one twin for the adoring public, so we were bottle feeding one that was on display...</div>
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While there, we decided to enjoy the show for the last time...Seth tried his hand (well, make that feet) in the kids tractor pull. He tried hard, but 75 pounds was a bit much for him.</div>
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All in all, the 2013 Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo was a wonderful, exciting and fulfilling experience. The crazy hectic Sunday was actually fairly typical. Our goats were seen by over 100,000 visitors. Katarina and Tim were able to work with other goat breeders and help make the goat show a success. Katarina survived her first year on the tour committee. During the show we continued milking goats, caring for farm and family, making cheese and yogurt and selling at market. Needless to say, we are exhausted and relieved that even good things eventually come to an end (at least for this year!)<br />
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Just in time...<br />
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Little League starts on Saturday.<br />
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LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-44648001191153412372013-02-05T11:10:00.001-06:002013-02-05T20:17:01.374-06:00Are We All Square, Now?<div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Using the Square Card Reader</td></tr>
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Tim is the technology and efficiency person here at Swede Farm. He researches, and I implement his ideas. One idea that he shared with me several years ago was "<a href="https://squareup.com/">Square</a>", a device that would give us the ability to connect a credit card reader to a smart phone and take credit card payments at our farmers markets. I rolled my eyes, at first. All of our regular customers know to bring cash to the markets. We <b>do</b> take checks. What would a card reader add to our business model? Our customers appreciate knowing that they are buying directly from the farmer. How farm-like is the ability to take credit cards? Would it not belie the bucolic image? I suspected that a big part of the attraction for Tim was the ability to "stick it to the man"...to have the flexibility to offer a service to our customers without having to grovel before some behemoth credit card company. The very concept of being able to accept cards without having to go through an application process and jump through anyone's hoops appealed to his independent streak.<br />
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We were spared from friction over the argument by the wildfire evacuations. I completely forgot the entire conversation in the light of more pressing concerns until a week after the evacuations, when <i>he</i> showed up at market. <i>He </i>was Miquel. He was going door to door (or rather, tent to tent) sharing with vendors about the Square credit card reader. Ah yes...I remember Tim telling me about this! I was still dubious as to the value that farmers would find in being able to accept credit card payments, but I knew that Tim was interested in a card reader and that he certainly could use a diversion from the wild and crazy events of the week prior.<br />
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I ran to find Tim, who was meandering about the market, chatting with other vendors. I told him of the young man who was at market signing people up for a card reader. To my surprise, Tim was not interested, in fact he waved me off...<br />
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"No, I already know who I want to use...I want the Square reader..."<br />
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I told him that this <i>was</i> the Square reader. He spoke with Miguel. He signed us up. We started using Square that very week.<br />
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I cannot say that Square immediately changed the course of our business (although we know that there are many who have had that experience). For us Square simply added a new dynamic to our ability to serve customers. It was also more convenient for us. We have always accepted checks, but living in the country it can be days before we are able to get to our credit union as each branch is at least 40 miles away. With Square we see the payments hit our account within a matter of days, usually Monday after a Saturday market. Square was also used within the first week for customers who wanted to give donations in the first few days after the wildfires.<br />
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Since signing up with Square we have investigated other readers...there was a local option from Austin that intrigued us, but we were never able to make it work We see representatives from other card readers at market...but we are not interested in switching. Square was simple, seamless. It was straightforward. The customer support was fantastic. We loved what the company stood for, "empowering small businesses" and their transparency. Our appreciation for Square has only grown in the seventeen months that we have been using it.<br />
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In typical Tim fashion, he evangelized for Square. He showed it off (the perfect marriage, to him, of independence and technology). He pitied those who had the ill luck to be tethered to the "old" way of taking credit cards. He rolled his eyes at anyone who doubted that this would be a useful tool for a farmer. He prided himself at being ahead of the curve.<br />
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He also delighted in Miguel's story. When we met Miguel he was pounding the pavement, signing people up with Square--on his own dime. He so believed in Square that he was working for them for free. He applied for a job with Square, did not get it, kept pounding the pavement for Square on his own dime until he was finally hired at Square. He now works at Square headquarters in California. It was fun to be able to watch from the sidelines as someone persevered in what they believed in and saw it pay off.<br />
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Apparently Miguel felt the same way about Swede Farm. We heard periodically from Miguel Each time he told us that he had shared our story. Once he asked would we be interested in participating in a video 'to promote Square to other small businesses?' Of course, we were. We did not hear anything else from him for several months and assumed he was on to bigger and better projects. <br />
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This January we were contacted again by the folks at Square. It seemed that Miguel was not exaggerating when he said that he had shared our story. In fact it seemed that everywhere that Miguel went, everyone he spoke to in the Square organization knew our story. He shared about the farmers who used Square when he spoke to small businesses about accepting credit cards. He shared it with corporations who were intrigued by what Square was doing. He shared it with anyone who would listen at Square headquarters, and apparently they wanted an update. We agreed to chat via <a href="http://www.skype.com/en/">Skype</a>. We <i>love</i> using Square and had no hesitancy in sharing how we use the card reader and the differences we have seen in our small business. We jumped in with great gusto, telling them how much we loved using Square. They stopped us. This was old news. Apparently they <i>know</i> that Square changed the face of small business, they are well aware of how it has truly empowered small businesses. They were not interested in hearing more of the same rave reviews of their products and services, they wanted to hear about Swede Farm. How we came to farming, How we see customers as community. The wildfire evacuation experience, and the recovery. They wanted to know <i>Swede Farm</i> itself. They asked if they could come to the farm to film. <br />
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They came to film, with a crew of five. They spent the first day doing interviews, getting ideas. They had read, it seemed, every word I had every written on this blog and their questions were often shaped by past blogs. They asked about the rewards of working with our children. They asked about the nature of having our customers sharing in our lives on such an intimate level. They asked us to relive the experience of the fire. Some of the questions brought me to tears. They definitely touched the deepest part of the essence of what farming has been for us. <br />
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The second day involved actually filming interviews and taking still shots of everything from baby goats playing, to Judah's boots. Their patience <i>had</i> to be tested by their subjects needing to take unannounced breaks to run and check on laboring goats--we had five separate kiddings the day that they were filming on the farm! I suspect that they had also never been nibbled on by baby goats while filming!<br />
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The third day they met us at our downtown <a href="http://www.sfcfarmersmarket.org/">Austin SFC market</a>. They filmed us selling product and (of course!) using the Square reader.<br />
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From what we understand, the plan is to distill the three days spent with the farmers at Swede Farm into a photo essay and a three minute video to be shared with potential corporate partners. Their desire is to share the human side of the small businesses that use Square. We are excited about this because so much of what we do is about relationships. Tim left an industry where people were known by the name on the account. He rarely spoke to the individual participants in a pension plan and most definitely did not know what they looked like or the details of their lives. We see our customers every week. We are able to ask how the broken arm is healing and how the visit to see the new grandbaby went. We are touched by their reliance upon us to feed their babies who need milk and their fierce dedication to us when we falter. Their support is not simply a side benefit to being able to provide them with our products, it is what keeps us going when we grow weary. In a visceral sense, seeing the once tiny and frail babies grow into sturdy dirty toddlers that visit the farm feels like a personal victory. Have the services we receive from Square been the missing link that makes it all possible? No. However, hearing from Square about their desire to share the personal side is, in some small measure, a vindication. We have long believed that personalizing business, bringing business down to the level of individual relationship is absolutely essential to retaining our humanity in an increasingly impersonal, standardized, and industrialized age. Being able to work with a business that recognizes this even as they skyrocket in size and scope is validation that others believe as we do and that it may yet be possible even at the highest level of business.<br />
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And <i>that</i> is <i><b>really</b></i> cool. <br />
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LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-13427012665320035912012-11-23T15:31:00.000-06:002018-08-14T10:55:30.325-05:00Hard Decisions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We know that this is a long post...but sharing one's heart is not always tidy and compact. We think you will understand why when you come to the end of this blogpost.<br />
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When we began the process to become a licensed goat dairy, our plan was to produce, pasteurize, bottle and sell milk. It seemed a straightforward process and we were assured of a ready market, it seemed, after all everyone else was making cheese with their goat milk. Given the
well-documented health benefits of goat milk, it was the obvious choice. The only other widely available commercially available goat milk was from a large national company that pools milk from many different farms and ultra-high temperature pasteurizes their milk to allow it to remain on store shelves for a long time. We felt that customers would appreciate the ability to buy milk directly from the farmer, within days of when the milk was actually in the goats. We know there are many different business models represented in local dairy, but this was to be ours--milk directly from our farm to your table.<br />
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While establishing a customer base for our milk we could not miss the continuous demands for cheese. We repeatedly directed those asking for cheese to the vendors who were making goat cheese but the requests continued, including from market managers who wanted to meet a demand for cheese at their markets but who were not interested in farms that only produced milk. We began making cheese to bring to those markets and we quickly realized <i>why</i> so many were only making cheese and not milk. Milk has a shorter shelf-life. Milk is harder to transport--100 containers of cheese is infinitely lighter and more compact than 100 jugs of milk! While milk is essential almost to the point of being a pharmaceutical for some, once the health crisis has passed that customer moves on and while there is always a new first-time customer to discover a great goat cheese, a replacement customer for milk is less predictable. Cheese provides a buffer against the low production season of Winter in that while Winter milk production is low, butterfat and milk proteins are high, meaning that the cheesemaker can get twice the amount of cheese per gallon of milk that they do in the Spring. This allows for a great reduction in the income fluctuations seen by the milk-only dairy. Cheese has a wider appeal and as a "value added product" there are infinite varieties with which to entice a reluctant customer. Don't like garlic? Try spicy! Too spicy? Try smoky! Looking for something special for breakfast? How about Lemon-Blueberry...milk does not offer the same degree of flexibility, nor the enjoyment of the creative outlet of tinkering with flavors. It also does not offer the opportunity to watch people's knees buckle when they try flavor after flavor of "amazing" cheese.<br />
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With all that cheese had going for it we found ourselves facing a difficult challenge over time. People still wanted milk, our pre-order list was growing every week. We heard from people regularly who shared the difference that the milk had made in their lives. Babies beginning to thrive, ulcers healed, increased bone density...we also noticed the undeniable fact that our business was now built on the back of our cheese sales. We made significantly more money by selling cheese than we could from selling milk or even our other fluid products such as yogurt, kefir and chocolate milk. Every single week we looked at how much milk we had available to turn into product for market. Every single week we faced turning away customers who were not looking for cheese, they needed milk for their health. Our hearts were far more inclined to sell milk, after all, to make only cheese when milk was needed seemed akin to saying "Let them eat cake" to those starving for bread. <br />
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Yet every single week we realized that in order to pay our bills and remain
viable as a business, we needed to make more cheese than anything else. We wanted to provide people with the milk that they needed to feed their babies--but how could we when it was a bad <i>business</i> decision and <i>our</i> babies depended on us to make the farm a successful business? In order to be able to make the amount of cheese needed to make the farm a success, business-wise, while continuing to meet the demand for goat milk, we clearly needed more milk.<br />
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There is a limit to the number of goats that we can own and milk. It is absolutely essential to us that we are good stewards of the animals that we have on the farm. We are not willing to add more goats in order to aim for a certain amount of milk; we cannot and will not have more goats than we can reasonably care for.<br />
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We can own and milk a finite number of goats. <br />
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We need to make cheese and other value added products in order to be a viable business.<br />
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Making value-added products restricts our ability to provide milk to those who need it.<br />
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Providing milk restricts our ability to make the value-added products that support our family.<br />
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And around and around it goes.<br />
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How do we make all of those square pegs fit in the round holes? How do we make the best decisions? On what basis should we make these decisions?<br />
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And so we have found ourselves standing at a crossroad. As parents we have to do what we can to provide for our family. As individuals we cannot turn our backs on those who need something that we can provide. <br />
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This has been a very humbling experience. We have had to admit that perhaps those who avoided selling milk had sound business reasons for having done so--but sound business decisions are of scant comfort when turning away a desperate mother in tears over her baby's need for milk. We have had to realize that the deep feeling of satisfaction that comes from knowing that you have made a difference in that baby's life does not pay the light bill.<br />
<br />
This brings us to a challenge. How do we reconcile ourselves with the
hard truth that our premise of handcrafting products from our own milk
is jeopardizing our dream of a productive family farm?<br />
<br />
We cannot. We must either relinquish the premise or relinquish the dream of a family farm. <br />
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In considering our situation we have come to the conclusion that we have a hierarchy of obligation to meet. Our first obligation is to provide for our family. Our second obligation is to provide quality products to our customers. Our third level of obligation is to the markets that provide us an avenue to meet our first two higher levels of obligation. We needed to find a way to meet these obligations without trying to cling to a business model that is providing more challenges than solutions at this point. We know that there will be those who do not agree with our decisions. The purists have their ideal of what constitutes "the farmer" as opposed to being simply cheesemakers or prepared food makers. There may be concern that the different options that we consider causes an unfair business advantage for us in regards to other area cheesemakers. We can see these viewpoints as we struggled with them in coming to this decision. In the end we came to the conclusion that each farm represents such a diverse set of circumstances that the concept of an "even playing field" is only an illusion in the first place. Some may have ideal animal bloodlines but less than ideal equipment. Some may be incredibly skilled in animal husbandry but struggle in marketing. There <i>is</i> no such thing as "equal", there are simply different business models that will--<i>must</i>--be individualized to represent the strengths and needs of the farmers. We will not--<i>ever</i>--be able to satisfy every would-be customer and they must seek the farm that most closely aligns with their specific criteria. Regardless of what route we take, there will be those who will say that we have lost our convictions. In the end, the only people who are answerable for how we meet (or fail to meet) our obligations are ourselves. For us to endeavor to adhere to standards set by others, be they purists, activists, naysayers or critics, is to commit business and relational suicide.<br />
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<br />
Then we were approached with a proposal that made our struggle more immediate.<br />
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Call it a paradigm shift, a change of convictions or a reality check, the fact remains that changes have to be made. The best way that we can see to be able to continue providing milk to those who need it while providing for the financial stability needed to continue farming is to blend our milk with milk from another local goat dairy for use in our value added products.<br />
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This allows us to adhere to our principles that the best milk to drink is from a single farm, within days of bottling. All milk that you receive from our hands at markets will be from Swede Farm goats. Our value added product will be from Swede Farm milk blended with milk from a neighboring dairy.<br />
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There are several obvious benefits to this plan. This will allow us to make more milk available to those who need milk directly from the farmer without hampering our ability to sell the value added product that is necessary for the long-term survival of the farm. It also allows us to support another local goat dairy in our community. <br />
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Primarily it allows us the security to continue in farming and we were prepared to accept the compromises in exchange for the benefits of providing for our family, being able to get more Swede Farm milk to customers and supporting local dairying...but there is much, much more.<br />
<br />
We will be buying our milk from The International Goat Research Center. The Center and the Cooperative Agricultural Research Center are at Prairie View A&M University, which is eight miles from our farm. The center maintains a Grade A goat dairy for the purposes of teaching and study with a goal of advancing "developments that improve socio-economic conditions
of clientele locally, nationally and internationally, with emphasis on the
historically underserved". In other words, they work to help goat farmers around the world achieve economic and nutritional stability. We have been involved with them in the past, supplying product for their "Goat Field Day" and welcoming them to tour the farm with visitors that they have to the center from such far flung places as the Ukraine and Wisconsin. Now we will be involved with them in ways that we find very exciting. We will be using the milk from their dairy, which allows them to keep the dairy in operation for purposes of teaching and program development and we will be working with them to expand the support and development of small dairies serving their local communities here in the United States. We have discussed with them the kind of support and education that we desperately needed when we were struggling to adapt both state and federal regulations to a micro-dairy set-up. We shared how challenging it was to go from having goats for our own family to trying to produce a product that could be sold commercially. Every week we hear from people across the country who are wanting to do what we have done but who desperately need a road map, a guide to get there. We hear from sustainably-minded markets and stores about how difficult it is to find locally run dairies that have the product to supply their stores and the stability to remain in business for more than a year or two. We have a waiting list of people who want local dairy products, especially fluid products such as milk and yogurt but the farms to supply it are lacking. The frustrating thing for us is that we know of many small farms that would love to produce the product, but the process seems insurmountably overwhelming. Whether the solution is a goat milk/cheese co-op for those who want to see the benefits of production without the processing and marketing of product; or the development of courses to shepherd the small producer who wants to do everything, as we do, the things being discussed at the center are very exciting. Buying their milk to blend with ours to make cheese helps us and our customers--being able to work with the center to bring to small producers the help that they need to supply the demand helps so many more. Communities across the country could potentially benefit and this makes this about so much more than our little farm. This is a way that we can help make a difference and we are incredibly humbled that God has brought this to our doorstep. <br />
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<br />LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-20235458508361682142012-11-20T08:48:00.002-06:002022-10-27T07:47:31.310-05:00Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRz7EAmx-gwsxKlHHEys4E0pxmcXUuYClxYOm4zJ0AD4CGAp7saad6jKAk7iPArTuSUtG9CoySn-Sc-Ngp-VdDfZ2YyhrE6orUL-LHxtpB5h5lK5DnG5ZPsGrmBo6gGvrBu5FFYuJE3I/s1600/IMG_20121117_142748.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRz7EAmx-gwsxKlHHEys4E0pxmcXUuYClxYOm4zJ0AD4CGAp7saad6jKAk7iPArTuSUtG9CoySn-Sc-Ngp-VdDfZ2YyhrE6orUL-LHxtpB5h5lK5DnG5ZPsGrmBo6gGvrBu5FFYuJE3I/s200/IMG_20121117_142748.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace in her "day dress" at Liendo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>Our county seat is <a href="http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/hgh07">Hempstead, TX</a>, at one time known as "Six Shooter Junction". Obviously a reference such as this does not come without a price. The town served as a Confederate supply and manufacturing center and was the site of a Confederate military hospital and several Confederate camps. <a href="http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/ccl01">Liendo Plantation</a>, on a hill on the outskirts of Hempstead served as a <a href="http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/qcc24">Prisoner of War camp as well as a rallying point for Confederate troops and was </a>occupied after the war by Custer, whose wife was nursed back to health at the plantation house. Every year (barring historic drought conditions such as were present in 2011) a three day long event is held on the plantation grounds to honor the history and educate visitors about life in a Civil War era camp, both Union and Confederate. The <a href="http://11texascav.org/">Civil War Weekend</a> is hosted by the current owners of Liendo Plantation and the 11th Texas Cavalry unit and is looked forward to every year by the Carlson family. This year we made the decision to only sell at two, rather that three markets in order to allow more of the family to participate at Liendo. The goal is to portray conditions for those who lived in camp, whether as soldiers or as the civilians that traveled with the army whether as cooks, laundress', blacksmiths, chaplains or more. The hardy sleep on cots in canvas tents, food is cooked over open campfires, and women and girls must take care to not catch their skirts on fire as too many women did "back then". The boys work their way up, from running firewood up to being "powder monkeys", all looking forward to the first year that they will be old enough to participate in the battle reenactments, the highpoint of the weekend for the boys while the girls look forward to the lawn dance.<br />
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We are now two days out from "Liendo" and instead of the graceful young lady pictured above, Grace now looks like this...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKcRUuepdwHl2xP4aFfhXaSg2qTo87jP3s8PLA5rIFpaSzNLuELUijOcMnDcoYnEldAU4Gu_aWeD43nmuuB6UMyesRdXVN_8pcd8MJs6xrlXnNYzffmUZ6PGT9iCutHCctjpxuzxHvWc/s1600/IMG_20121120_064939.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKcRUuepdwHl2xP4aFfhXaSg2qTo87jP3s8PLA5rIFpaSzNLuELUijOcMnDcoYnEldAU4Gu_aWeD43nmuuB6UMyesRdXVN_8pcd8MJs6xrlXnNYzffmUZ6PGT9iCutHCctjpxuzxHvWc/s200/IMG_20121120_064939.jpg" width="200" /></a>It seems that we returned home with a virus of respiratory nature that has made it's way through the household with alarming speed. To be honest, we most likely went to Liendo with this brewing but it is now kicked into high gear. No one is deathly ill, coughs and congestion are the order of the day, with earaches and fevers thrown in for good measure for the younger set. Thus far our resident asthmatics are handling it well but we have nebulizers ready at hand. We are keeping everyone well hydrated and using our tried and true immune support supplements and are hopeful that we will have it kicked to the curb by Thursday as we are scheduled to travel to East Texas to visit our dear friends at <a href="http://texadus.com/">Texadus Farm</a> and there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth from both our crew and theirs if we cannot make the trek.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://i61.photobucket.com/albums/h62/timcarlson/20070312CKandTeasBuckIII.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://i61.photobucket.com/albums/h62/timcarlson/20070312CKandTeasBuckIII.jpg" width="200" /></a>Other than that, things are rolling right along. We are definitely in our low season, milk production is now at one fourth of our Summer level. Goat bellies are getting larger and lower. and we are watching the calendar as goat due-dates approach--just not fast enough to suit us! We are working on a project to turn a section of our garage into a baby goat nursery so that perhaps, for the first time ever, we do not have a living room full of bins of baby goats. It is a theory, anyway, I really do not see my family giving up cuddling with new babies.<br />
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We made the tough decision a few months ago, to drastically reduce our herd size. As I have shared before, we did not get goats with the intention of starting a dairy. Our goal was milk for our family and the ability to participate in goat shows. We had absolute liberty to keep the goats that we liked and sell others, purely on the basis of affection, beauty or whim. As time went on, once we were licensed as a dairy, we added goats on the basis of milk production, but we continued choosing who to keep or sell on an emotional basis, and who wants to see adorable babies? Or the only remaining daughter of our first goat? Or that one that had such a rough start that she spent her first month in the house being pampered? We were prompted by close friends a few months ago, to take a hard look at the list of goats that we owned. We considered how many goats we needed to be milking, if the goats were of average or above average milk production levels. We considered how much it would take to feed that number of goats plus a reasonable number of babies each year to serve as replacements for retiring milkers. When we finished number crunching we realized that with judicious breeding and culling we could be milking 3/4 the goats that we currently milk (for 3/4 the feed costs) and likely be getting more milk if we standardized the decision making process for who we keep or sell. Once we determined how many goats we really needed to make the dairy productive we were stunned to realize that we could easily reduce our numbers by 40% over time. Well...the term "easily" is a bit deceptive in this case, as deciding on paper that a goat is better suited as a "backyard milker" or pet is entirely different from actually listing that animal for sale and seeing it leave. We have effectively done that which we set out to do, but that doesn't mean that I did not cry last night, thinking of the goat girls that left during the day. We are content that our girls are going to homes where they will be loved and cared for, but the parting is still hard. Next year--we will know ahead of time whose daughters we are keeping or selling, so that we know not to get attached. I hope.<br />
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On a lighter note--or rather, a darker note--it is truffle season! Each year from Thanksgiving through the New Year, we turn some of our chevre into chocolate truffles. Addictive and decadent they usually sell very quickly, to our children's great dismay for they would rather they come home from market and go into our home refrigerator as happens to product that does not sell well. The chocolate addicts in the house anxiously await the appearance of truffle season. The Weight Watchers members in the household (sadly also chocolate addicts) bemoan the price tag, lifestyle-wise, and everyone is ready to see truffle season draw to a close as each truffle is individually hand rolled. <br />
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So there it is. Liendo is over until next year. Low season has begun, we anxiously await baby season. Time passes, the seasons roll by, as comforting in their predictability as they are disconcerting in the increasing speed with which they come and go as our children, spouse and business gets older. As noted in Ecclesiastes, "<span class="versetext" id="ec3-1" style="display: inline;">There is a time<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7224207025763795195" name="1"></a> for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven". This we know to be true.
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LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-83998738301889618442012-11-15T16:29:00.000-06:002012-11-15T22:46:09.145-06:00Wholesale? Who me?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Every week we stand in our tent at farmers markets in Houston and Austin handing out samples of what we believe is the best, freshest goat milk, yogurt, chocolate milk and cheese. We are proud of our products, we work hard to bring them from the woods and fields to dairy and then to market and we love sharing what we do with others.<br />
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It is a rare week that passes without one of us at market being asked "do you sell wholesale?". At first we were excited to be asked that question. It meant not only that the person trying the product liked it--it also meant that they liked it well enough that they wanted to share it with their own customers at their store or restaurant. This was a heady feeling at first because it seemed to indicate that we were on the right track with our products but it wasn't terribly long before that question failed to elicit excitement. You see, we have decided that we do not "do" wholesale. What we "do" is relationship selling.<br />
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Wholesale is a product of the industrial age. It refers to a reduction of price on items that are bought in bulk, usually to be resold in some form or fashion. Picture Walmart and widgets, if you will. Walmart buys widgets in bulk and gets a great deal on them because they buy kazillions of widgets. The manufacturer of the widgets can sell at a low price because they are saving time and labor by manufacturing widgets to one set of specifications--Walmart's. They also can sell at a low price because they bought the individual components of their widgets at a great price because they were likewise buying kazillions of widget components.<br />
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We do not make widgets. We do not make kazillions of anything and as a small business we cannot buy kazillions of anything that has enough of an impact on our costs to allow us to reduce our prices.<br />
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We buy feed for our animals--at retail. We buy bottles for our milk--at retail. We buy our cheese ingredients--at retail. We simply do not make enough to be able to buy wholesale as we could not go through the feed, or ingredients quickly enough to keep it from going bad. What do we do with all of this retail buying besides supporting other businesses? We hand-craft dairy products in time honored fashion, batch by small batch. <br />
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So when a well-meaning chef or buyer for a store asks for wholesale we are left with nothing to offer. They cannot buy enough of our products to allow us to reduce the price and we cannot buy enough feed or supplies to allow us to cut costs in order to reduce the price by any significant amount. If we were to enter into a contract with a business such as this it would likely leave us unable to meet the needs of our "regular" customers at market. There is simply no way that we can sell wholesale without harming ourselves, long-term.<br />
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Thankfully this has not left us with unsold product because while we do not sell wholesale, what we do is sell on the basis of relationship. We forge relationships with people who know that we will do what it takes to bring them their milk and cheese each week. We develop relationship so that we will be able to explain when supply is low and cost may be headed higher. We get to know our customers and their needs so that we consider their needs when planning product. Customers know that they are not supporting a faceless farmer or label on a store shelf, they are supporting a family. Many of our faithful weekly customers have been buying week in and week out for years, now--which adds up to higher quantities than any store or restaurant ever wanted--and for full price. <br />
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Our farm is built on the backs of our individual loyal customers, so wouldn't selling wholesale to a business be telling them that a "contract" means more to us than their loyalty? <br />
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This does not mean that we would never sell to a restaurant or store, we have done both over the years and will continue to do so--but we do so on the basis of having developed relationship with the chef as an individual. We appreciate and respect what they are doing in their restaurant and they appreciate and respect what we do on our farm. We do not sell to them on a wholesale basis, we sell to them on the same basis as we do to every single other customer, that of relationship.<br />
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Works for us.LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-85189141359603752782012-11-15T11:17:00.000-06:002012-11-15T11:17:07.663-06:00When Life Hands You Squash?When I did our mega food shopping for the month I grabbed spaghetti squash. Today when I grabbed the squash off the shelf I realized that I had not grabbed spaghetti but butternut squash. Yet...the hordes still need to eat and everyone was looking forward to what they thought would be pasta.<br />
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So, broken down for non-mega sized families--<br />
<br />
Butternut Squash and Chevre Sauce<br />
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1 medium Butternut Squash<br />
Olive oil<br />
8 ounces Swede Farm Chevre (I used plain)<br />
8 ounces Swede Farm Yogurt<br />
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin<br />
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper<br />
Freshly grated parmesan <br />
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Split squash in half, lengthwise. Brush cut side with olive oil, place cut side up in roasting pan with approximately one inch of water in bottom of pan. Roast at 400 until soft and carmelized.<br />
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In bowl mix Chevre, hot roasted squash, cumin, pepper and yogurt. Beat until blended--a stick blender would be great but not necessary. Serve over hot pasta--if I had parmesan I'd be using it to top this, but I do not have any right now and the hordes still have to eat, so I will just imagine what it would be like. If you would like to make the horde sized version...simply triple the recipe.<br />
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<br />LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224207025763795195.post-71502242720331082712012-11-14T15:40:00.000-06:002012-11-15T08:02:32.112-06:00Is She or Isn't She?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-eZ0gm2VhjaVM4YZzdXonQeVw-v1JTM1BEwQHwXwwejY5nQ7QPiUMkc0LDNDSjdtdEYbRxwD_h_025bZsRdAgz-9CaY1tfPvzyghvA6eN7-44Qqv_16INlCDyUQySKz8dQIUPTKxtOw/" width="238" /></div>
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It is that time of year again...the bucks smell fabulous (to the girls, at least), the girls are flirting at the fenceline and my favorite past-time is standing in the pasture staring at the girls and wishing that pregnant goats were more obvious!<br />
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Goats being ruminants, they have very developed digestive tracts including parts of their stomachs that act as large composting vats breaking down the leaves and twigs that goats love to eat. These well-developed rumens are a big part of what makes goats look so large around the middle, as Cinnamon models so well in the picture above. We have had milkers that have not seen hide nor hair of a buck in over a year and invariably when farm visitors see them they point with delight and exclaim "That one is having twins for sure!" Nope, just digesting their dinner, thank you very much.<br />
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When we only had a handful of goats we watched for heat, put the girls in with the boys when they showed that they were ready and willing and thirty days later drew blood and sent it off for a pregnancy test. (No, home pregnancy tests made for people do not work on goats. I wish that they did!) This method worked when we had three, then eight, then sixteen goats. Our plan is to reduce our herd size over the next few months, but for now we have 45 goats that we would be pregnancy testing. If each test costs $6.50, and we assume that perhaps twenty-five percent of them did not get pregnant and we repeated the cycle and retested, assuming repeating the cycle again perhaps for the next twenty-five percent...ad nauseum. This is a cost that we really cannot handle this year while we are still recovering from a very challenging period of time, business-wise.<br />
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So this year we decided that we would not test but would instead just do this the old fashioned way. As goats come into heat, put them in with the buck, write date on calendar. Watch calendar and goat and cross fingers that she does not come into heat in three weeks, which would indicate that she did not get bred. It works for many, it should work for us...<br />
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it just makes me crazy! I want to <i>know</i> that the goats are (or are not) bred. I want to be able to plan. I want to be able to tell our customers "the first babies are due on thus and such date and we have blankety-blank number of goats due within the first month and blahblahblah goats due the second month, so we should be up to full production by the vernal equinox..." not "well, the goats should start kidding in the Spring...I hope..." I do better with <i>facts</i> and the fact is that without seeing on paper, neat rows that state "Cinnamon--pregnant. Joplin--pregnant. Aggie--pregnant. Mesquite--pregnant. Lottie--open (not pregnant). Sydney--pregnant...I am not ever sure. I lay awake at night and think "what if NONE of them are pregnant? What if all of our guys are shooting blanks? What if we don't have ANY babies this year, if we do not get ANY milk?" <br />
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It is going to be a very long Winter.<br />
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EDITED TO ADD...I really do not think that our guys are all shooting blanks. It is more that I am beset by a generalized anxiety that something will go wrong and none of our "girls" will get pregnant this year! We were actually reminded that it is theoretically possibly to use a doppler such as I used to listen to midwifery client's babies on the goats so we will be giving that a whirl later today. Wish us luck! </div>
LeeAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03197263826891427071noreply@blogger.com0