FARMING ISN’T HARD.

I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that farming is generally considered some of the hardest work one can do. That said, I likewise do not feel I am exaggerating when I say it should also be in the running for some of the easiest.Obviously, farming is physical. It’s sweaty. Hot. Cold. Bloody. Farming can be—and mostly is—all of those things. But whether or not it is hard is a different question because difficulty is, as all things, relative. Any job can be harder than farming. To be sure, any job you don’t love can be the hardest job in the world.When you don’t love what you do for work—work being what Americans spend 20-30% of our lives doing—then it cannot possibly ever be easy. It doesn’t matter what the work even is, it matters that it taps into some amount of the things you are passionate about.Forgive this analogy, but it helps for me to think of it in terms of wells. We all have these proverbial wells filled with our enthusiasms and idealisms. Some of our wells are deeper than our others, and some can be tapped more readily. But if you cannot tap your wells at all in what you do then you’re going to suffer, dry up. Just check your soil in a severe drought—everything is harder when it receives no water.That said, no matter how hard the work, or how stressful, if you have a deep well filled with your interests and dreams that can all be tapped for the job you do, then your stresses can be allayed. Your exhaustion can be cured. Droughts are a part of life, these wells are how we weather them.For myself, on long hot days I am buoyed by my love of food, by my passion for building soil, for microbial life, and for the homestead. I think of my child (soon children) and how amazing it is to watch him growing up in the dirt—that keeps me going. Nay, it keeps me excited to be exhausted. At this point, the irrigation from my wells flows when I need it to, and I am forever grateful for that. I am also grateful to have chosen a life symbiotic with my particular wells where, even when tired, I can take a break and access them—do a project, ferment, build, plant, grow, cook, brew. I didn’t have this same feeling when I worked in the city making better money than I do now, even in a job I liked. I couldn’t irrigate as easily then, and ultimately it began to hurt. I suffered from depression and exhaustion. Indeed, I had the wells and could see them overflowing, I just couldn’t tap them.Now, I want to be clear that this doesn’t mean farming is for everyone, or that everyone’s wells are a fit for farm life (or, with special emphasis, that depression can always be remedied by a simple change in lifestyle). No doubt, your wells are different from mine, as mine are different even from my wife’s. The life that your wells are fit to water is unique to the individual, and he or she must think hard about what is in those wells—i,e, what makes you happy? To live a life that allows me to tap into my wells of enthusiasm is requisite for sanity. I have survived without access to wells before, but whether or not I was alive is debatable.Maybe it’s a hobby. Maybe it’s a whole new job, a new life, but with acceptance of sounding a little new-agey with all this, one can not let these wells go to waste or run dry. Find a way to always take advantage of your wells and you will find they are governed by an elegant brand of physics—that is, the more you use them, the faster they replenish.- Jesse.

SELF-INSUFFICIENCY.

Hannah and I are not survivalists. Not on purpose, at least. We did not move to the country for fear that the world would collapse and we'd need to be self-sufficient. Sure, we thought it would be good to know how to grow our own food, but not necessarily because we felt we'd ever have to, but because, well, we're curious humans. And we like good food. And we like living simply. And we like the countryside.That being said, living off-grid we find that many of our interests overlap with those of survivalists, preppers and the like, respectfully. But one area where our interests do not overlap is in the area of self-sufficiency. To us, this is not an interest. To us, there is no such thing. We have found that there is community-sufficiency and then there is insufficiency.What I mean by that is, having lived rather primitively for the better part of six years now, we have come to see the value in having a good relationship with our neighbors. I am not ashamed to say, we are dependent upon this relationship. We depend on them for feed corn, for hay, for large tractor use, for general savoir-faire, and for friendship.Would we perish without them? No––I guess we could get along on our own if we had to. But we hope and work to never have to, and we definitely never want to. And we hope they would never want to get along without us, either. We want to build a relationship with our community strong enough to survive any disaster, any end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it scenario, not because we feel it's necessary, but because that is the type of relationship you should always have with your community.All of these off-grid magazines seem more focused on the individual––on guns and survival techniques––than on community. And I get that to some extent. I get the increasing fear (and the increasing population of these magazines). Climate change is having its way with the world. Tensions and temperatures are high. Especially for those who live in a city or near the ocean––people are starting to worry. And without our neighbors, I might be inclined to worry, too.For us, though, we are always practicing survivalism whether we claim it or not. We need our neighbors as much now as we would should the world ever crumble––because sometimes it does crumble a little and they swoop in––that is survivalism to us. Maybe we are survivalists in that sense. Maybe we should all practice a little less self-reliance, and rely a little more on the people around us to survive now, while things are good, so that if things ever turned bad we'd hardly notice. We'd just turn to our neighbors and say, "You need any help with anything, you let us know."And I have no doubt they'd say, "You do the same now, you hear."- Jesse. 

BABY'S FIRST TRICK.

So long as Further turns out to be respectful and polite—to us and to others—Hannah and I will consider our parenting a success. So it would only seem natural that the very first thing we would teach him is to stick his tongue out at us.We read that babies his age––somehow two months, already––will mimic your face. If you open your mouth, they'll copy, or if you stick out your tongue, they'll follow suit. And after our midwife told us that getting him to stick out his tongue will help strengthen his tongue muscles and in turn improve his nursing abilities, we decided to give it a shot.The first few times we tried, Further seemed incredulous. In fact, we've been sticking our tongues out at him for a couple weeks now, and all we've been getting is a look of skepticism or indifference. Then the other day it just clicked, and he has spent the last few days sticking his tongue out at us, followed by hysterical laughter. It's one of the most joyous experiences I've ever been a part of. And that's how it starts, right? First it's the tongue and next thing we know we'll be teaching him his numbers, and how to get over a broken heart. I wonder if I'll treasure every milestone like I treasure this one, like I treasured his first smile of recognition. Knowing me, I probably will. I will look forward to every new milestone, and every thing he learns, even when we have to one day teach him not to stick his tongue out at people––because, you know, it's rude.- Jesse.

SWEET REWARDS.

The other day I went to work on a project at a friend's house. It was early, the sun was starting to rise and I was rushing around the cabin trying to get things together to go. Further had just woken up––he sleeps pretty much all night, with milk breaks, naturally––and Hannah was bouncing him in his chair. I said bye to my wife, and then knelt down beside Further to say goodbye to him as well.When he saw me for the first time that morning he looked straight at me, smiled and laughed. And I swear to God, my heart melted right into my feet.Apologies for the cornball factor of this next paragraph, but I don't know how people survive this part of the parenting process. It's not the hard work, or the inconsolable moments. It's not the pee or poop on everything you own. It's the smiles. It's the odd little snoring noises they make. It's the tiny hands, and tiny feet and glimpses of recognition that bring a crippling amount of joy into our bodies. That, more than anything, is what's been hard about parenthood so far––surviving the sweetness.What's fascinating to me, though, is that babies don't try and trick you. Their needs and wants, as author Dr. Sears teaches us, are one and the same. He's not smiling to get something out of us. When he's smiling, it means he's happy, and our reactions to his cries and smiles are genuine. They're biological. If a baby is not happy, it cries and you can feel it––your body tells you to help him, he's in need. And if a baby is smiling, it means you're doing things right. That's why your body fills up with endorphins that tell you to keep doing whatever it is, because whatever it is, is working. I guess that's how parents survive these first few months. They get through the hard nights, the pee and poop, rewarded handsomely by nature with a dose of endorphins that keep you going––that keep you working for that next smile to tell you "Good work, Mama and Papa––you're on the right track." And that smile before I left the house, kept me going all day.- Jesse.