DAY OFF DAY.

It's around 6:30 a.m., I'm drinking coffee, writing this post, chatting with my beautiful wife, watching Further adroitly manipulate his bouncer, and just generally relaxing. And it feels amazing. Usually at this time I would be anxiously pounding away at an upcoming article while haphazardly preparing breakfast so that I could get into the fields. But not today. Today is Sunday, and I'm taking the darn thing off.I haven't been taking days off this year. Not really. It's been too busy, and we've been shorthanded. Of course, not taking days off is very common for farmers. And since we dry farm––that is, we do not use irrigation––we don't always get to have the luxury of choosing which days work best to take off. If the soil is ready, we work.But I've realized I need these days off. I need a consistent day that I can just do what I want to do without the pressure of the garden weighing on me. The pigs still have to be fed, and the chickens, cats and dog. But I have been overdoing it a lot lately. I vomited while picking garlic this year. I caught myself on the verge of exhaustion or dehydration multiple times. Stress has been high. This, as you can imagine, is not sustainable.Sustainability, of course, is the goal. We say it often, but sustainability is not just about how you farm, but how you feel after farming. It needs to be viewed holistically. One can not be sustainable if they are going down several days a year due to overworking.So Sundays it is. And when it can't be Sundays (like in the Spring when you literally might only get one day a week to work the soil), it will be another day. If we are going to make this a sustainable life, we need a day off. We need a day to chat, drink coffee, make faces at babies and write blog posts about it, because that's what we want to do. Of course, as I finish this post––I kid you not––I look out into our yard and see a piggy on the loose. Oh well. Perhaps days off are more of a state of mind, which will have to be good enough today.- Jesse.

DAY IN THE LIFE.

Monday, May 184:30 a.m.I wake up to the sound of Hannah sniffling and sneezing. Allergy season is a bummer around here for all of us––something that grows nearby really loves to pester our family. So I get out of bed to get her some tissue, then decide to start my day with a nice, warm fire in our already nice, warm house, per usual.4:30 - 7:15 a.m.I spend this time working on articles and making pancakes for breakfast. Hannah and Further get up around six, at which point he begins his daily hour of smiles, contemplation and, most recently, growling. It's probably his cutest new maneuver. I also feed the pigs in this time block. They're warming up to us, but I know how it goes. Once they are no longer afraid of us, they will be pushing us over to get to the food. Smart? Definitely. Friendly? Sure. But decorous? Not so much.7:15-10:30 a.m.I go to the gardens to harvest for our first CSA delivery and somehow forget everything I need. Rusty, I guess. Long winter. So added into this time period is a trip back to the house to get the harvest bins, baskets and the harvest knife.10:30-11:30 a.m.When I get back to the house I switch roles with Hannah. She begins to get everything cleaned and organized while I take over baby duty, which basically just consists of me giggling and laughing and cooing while Further stares at me incredulously. It's symbiotic.11:30-12 p.m.I drive onto the hill to take care of emails which will never cease to be ridiculous. Oh, I guess until we get electricity and internet here. Then it will cease, I suppose.12 - 1:30 p.m.I cook some pasta, beef and mushrooms for lunch and while I'm waiting for it to get done I do some mulching. If you ever find me not multitasking, I'm probably sick and you should maybe make me some soup or take me to the hospital.1:30 - 3 p.m.A bunch of piddly farm things happen in this time block that are not necessarily noteworthy––watering plants, checking on mushroom logs, weeding the strawberries, taking an eight minute power nap. You know, the usual.3 p.m. - 5 p.m.We drive to Tompkinsville to meet a shareholder and give her her food as well as stop by our beloved Brutons and pick up supplies for our water system which we plan to put together this weekend. And yes, we're excited, but the supplies cost double what we anticipated, so it's a little bittersweet.5 p.m. - 7 p.m.Bittersweet or not, when we get home I spend the next hour and a half or so putting the pipe together and hauling everything to the spring. I'm elated because water is finally happening, which helps when you're hauling heavy pipe over a creek and up a hill. Our dear friends the Ladniers will be joining us this weekend to help get the water going, and do some good old fashioned hanging out. Running water––oh man, sounds like a dream.7 - 8 p.m.I watch Further again so Hannah can get ready for market the next day and also work on some writing. Further growls some more––which is still pretty amazing––and I coo. Our conversations are extraordinary.8 - 9:30 p.m.I drive back on the hill in the dark to do internet work, and enjoy the company of a million or so lightning bugs, who all seem thoroughly perplexed by my headlights––by the two giant lightning bugs that just arrived. Then I go back home, have a salad and some chips, do a bit more writing (which I know, is not a very fun task to read about) and then finally join the wife and baby in bed.9:30 p.m.Sleep.- Jesse.

A DAY IN THE LIFE: MIDWIFE VISIT.

Thursday August 21.5 a.m.Now that the sun isn't coming up until around to 5:45, we're having to use an alarm clock again. The alarm goes off, but the soreness of my body makes me ignore it. There is a possibility I am getting the cold that everyone else got (and that I gloated about not getting). In an unrelated note, there is no hour too early for karma.5:30 - 5:45 a.m.After laying in bed for thirty minutes wondering if I'm sick or not––and concluding that I may just be tired from a ridiculous amount of labor the day before, not willing to concede to the cold just yet––I decide to get up and feed the turkeys. I enjoy this chore as the turkeys all make this sort of vibrating cooing sound in the morning that I'm pretty sure proves they're dinosaurs. Somehow.5:45 - 7 a.m.Get fire going, writing, breakfast.7 -7:30 a.m.I leave to do our neighbor's chores while he's out of town, a privilege of trust I am forever honored to be a part of. On the ride over I listen to a story on NPR about the photo journalist James Foley who was beheaded by ISIL. I just have to think that no God would be anything short of embarrassed and saddened by a group of people who would do such a thing in what they feel is God's name. Someone needs to check their copies of the Quran for some serious misprints.7:30 - 8 a.m.More writing and begin preparation for our trip to see our midwife.8 - 10:30 a.mWe make the hour drive to the place where we meet the midwife and spend about an hour talking about the baby, and telling our stories of feeling it kick, among many other baby related and non baby-related things. The midwives tell Hannah how well she's doing, because it's true. She's healthy, she's eating right, getting her exercise, drinking her water and doing everything she can to bring a healthy child into the world. And I'm so proud and so lucky to have her.At the end of the meeting we all team up to move a new futon into their office. Part of our deal is that we're trading veggies and work for a portion of our midwife fee. And we're thankful for that, because good luck finding a hospital willing to barter.10:30 - 12 p.m.Because we're insane and still keep up this blog thing despite our lack of electricity, we have to take every opportunity we're in town to use the internet. But, in doing so, we find out that our fee for the web host is due, and that it's going to be $228. That smarts, and makes our "blog thing" even more insane as it leaves us with about $200 left in the bank total. To add a cherry to this mess, I discover one article I've been working on for the 31st, is actually due tomorrow. I guess when it rains it pours... stupidness.12 - 2:30 p.m.Did I mention I was coming down with a cold, because by lunch I've pretty much confirmed that's what it is. I'm coming down with a cold and that is why after lunch––grilled hamburgers, of course, for the baby––I take an extended nap. In fact, it was such a nap Hannah even takes over the walking-Wendell-to-the-mailbox duty for the day.2:30 - 3 p.m.Our nearby neighbors Ed and Jackie, who are some of the most delightful people I know, bring over some biodynamically-grown pears (which my computer does not recognize as a word) for us to bring to market on Saturday. So if you need some delicious pears, we'll see you in Nashville, uh, a few days ago by the time this hits the blog.3 - 4 p.m.#goatmoving4 - 5:30 p.m.I'm not usually a procrastinator, so I'm not used to having to produce work on the fly. But I sit down and knock out the bulk of the article in this period and am left feeling almost disappointed in how well it goes. I do not need to know I can wait until the last minute to do good work. That's all sorts of dangerous.5:30 - 6 p.m.I put in some work on another hugel bed, but I remember that a) I'm supposed to go pick beans at a neighbor's house and b) I don't feel all that well and should probably not be working so hard in humid, ninety-five degree heat.6 - 7 p.m.Bean picking. Some of our old-timey neighbors planted way more beans than they could ever use and have invited us to pick "a mess" whenever we wanted. So I pick us a mess.7 - 9:30Dinner and a movie. This time it's "The Fantastic Mr. Fox" which, as a Wes Anderson fan herself, I was surprised to learn Hannah hadn't seen. She realized she must have been in Italy when it came out where Wes Anderson is banned (after no research at all this turns out to be patently false).9:30 - 10 p.m.A little more work on the article. I will get more time in the morning, but there is no guarantee the cold I ignored all day won't punish me, and my work, by sun-up.10 p.m.Bed.- Jesse.

A SUNDAY IN THE LIFE.

This completes the week of "Day in the Life" posts, but I can't imagine not doing more of these, or more double negatives, in the future. Anyhow, I give you the last day of our week: Sunday, August 10th.5:15 - 5:45 a.m.I wake up at my usual time, but unlike usual I lay in bed for thirty minutes. It's Sunday, which is technically supposed to be a day off of sorts, so I try not to feel the guilt self-employed people feel when they're doing something that is not work, when they're doing anything that doesn't lead to money. But I eventually get corrupted by that guilt anyway and get out of bed to do chores.5:45 - 6:15 a.m.I galumph slowly about the farm collecting firewood and kindling to get the fire going. As often happens on Sunday I feel fatigued and inhibited by Saturday, by the previous week, or by the season. This Sunday it is all three.6:15 - 7:30 a.m.Writing. I have articles due and blog posts I want to write and a whole host of other projects I'm insane for getting myself involved in as a farmer, but oh well. If you want something done, I tell myself often, give it to a busy person. Then I tell myself, "Now stop talking, I'm busy."7:30 - 7:45 a.m.I take a few minutes to listen to NPR's Weekend Edition because it has become tradition for Hannah and I to play the puzzle every week and for her to do infinitely better than me.7:45 - 8:45 a.m.The sky looks like rain so I decide to go ahead and move the goats. But honestly, I would be happy for it to dump rain all over me so long as some of that rain hits the ground, too. The rain cloud dissipates without raining.8:45 - 9:15 a.m.I drive up onto our neighbor's pasture to check email and such. Yep, our closest internet is about a mile away. But if nothing else, the views are exceptional––especially the view of me standing in a pasture holding my device into the air looking for reception.9:15 - 10:15 a.m.I consider taking the rare midmorning nap, but determine I should probably do some more writing instead. Or rather, the guilt determines this for me.10:15 - 11 a.m.A large, dark cloud begins to form in the Southeast so I decide at random to transplant a hundred and fifty rutabaga plants. I feel the pressure and excitement of racing this rain cloud and fly through the planting at blinding speeds. Rain drops begin to hit my head as I bury the last plant. Then suddenly, nothing happens. The rain cloud completely blows over the farm and I'm left standing there sweaty, dirty, and out of breath with an empty tray of rutabaga transplants in my hand. I walk back to the house and decide to listen to "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me" instead of crying. We need more rain in the next two days, or we're right back into a drought.11 - 12:15 p.m."Wait Wait Don't Tell Me." No crying. Brief nap.12:15 - 2:40 p.m.To celebrate our anniversary (which isn't technically until December) we go out for lunch at our favorite barbecue place in Tompkinsville called Frances. There we eat catfish and tater tots because that what the baby wants for lunch, and I don't argue with babies.2:40 - 4 p.m.I'm not entirely sure what happens in this time. There's some reading and talking and phone calls and kitties until the next thing I know it's four o'clock. Time doesn't always fly when you get older, sometimes it just flat out disappears.4 - 5:45 p.m.The guilt returns and to oblige it I go out into the garden, work up soil and transplant some cauliflower. The guilt becomes momentarily satisfied, a moment being about as long as it is ever satisfied.5:45 - 6:30 p.m.We go fetch water together from the spring and Hannah tells me about all of the things she's been reading on raising babies. Apparently babies like contrast in faces and that's why they tend to like guys with beards. This explains a lot for me. For a somewhat wild-looking and awkward person with a long beard and messy hair, I have always been a smash hit with babies. Who knew facial contrast was my best feature?6:30 - 7 p.m.Earlier in the day we had grabbed some lamb from the freezer so I do some writing and start thinking about dinner. My stomach joins in the thinking so I stop writing and get to work.7 - 9 p.m.I collect firewood, cook dinner and Hannah and I listen to "Sound Opinions" and "Radiolab" until we can no longer hold our heads up. It occurs to me that I mentioned four different NPR shows in this one post, and that's not including the snippets of "A Prairie Home Companion" or "On Being" or "Car Talk" or "This American Life" we heard in the day. It can never be understated how much we love our radio.9 p.m.Bed.