I AM GARDEN.

 A persistent theme on this blog has been that we don't want comparison to be the thief of joy––we don't want people to come to our site, think we live some perfect homesteading existence and leave feeling worse about themselves. We are not, to be sure, Martha Stewart's of off-grid farming. We are messy like anyone, dirty like all farmers, normal. For that reason, we always try to be as honest and transparent as we can because the goal of this blog is more to inspire people to do what they want to, or long to, than it is to impress you with our perfection. Perfect we are not. Fortunate. Happy. Those I'll accept.But transparency is not always easy, and I'm not always aware of when we are putting on a show.Take for instance a recent visit we had with our photographer friend Tim who was shooting for an exciting project (more on that later). I found myself at 7 a.m. on that Sunday feverishly running our machinery through the garden to get the weeds in check. The potatoes got a fresh hilling up. The cucumber bed suddenly found itself ready to plant. Everything not food got mowed. In essence, I scrubbed the garden.Once Tim arrived, I finally went inside to change clothes into something mildly less dusty. It was then, in front of the mirror, that I realized I had put zero thought into what I was going to wear. Zero thought into trimming my beard. Zero thought into my hair. I thought only about the garden. Then, looking at my reflective wildness, I laughed.I laughed because I realized in that moment that I have become our garden. And it is admittedly sometimes hard for me to show it to you. This small plot of land is my most intimate representation. I don't just take pride in it, I am it. It is me. So when I want to present myself to the world, I pull my weeds, harrow my beds, clean my paths and cultivate. Even then I hesitate, because even then it's still too revealing, too cluttered, not in shape yet.I don't know what this says about me, I just know that it isn't always easy to show the world the weeds, even if I'm the only one who can see them. My personal weeds, that's okay. My depression, my anxieties, that time I fell off the porch eating watermelon––that's all fine. The garden, however, is different. It's painfully personal, even though, or perhaps especially because, we want it to be a community space––shareholder owned––I still feel protective over it like an unfinished short story, or an unabashed love of pop music.So I just hope when you look at a picture of me––the bearded me––you can still feel good about yourself. And when you look at a picture of the garden, you know I'm sharing something really special. Because I do believe in showing you the dirt. But like anyone does when they have guests, I can't help but tidy up a little first.-Jesse.