VISION.

There have been a million changes to my vision in the past decade or so of my life, but three that really stand out. And by vision I don't mean, "My vision for the world," or "My vision for the future." I literally (okay, and as always, somewhat figuratively) mean how I see.The first came in 2007. I was in Burgundy, France, where I was staying at a small Bed and Breakfast for the night on a trip through wine country. The B&B had this beautiful patio and garden area for guests where I spent the evening reading Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma for the first time. After that day, I could hardly put the book down. And when I returned to the states a few days later, I couldn't stop thinking about what I was eating. The entire world of food was suddenly punctuated with giant question marks––where did it come from? How was it raised? What's in this? My blissful ignorance about food was irreparably destroyed by that book. Never again could I ignore factory farms, or artificial ingredients, or the impact those things have on ourselves and our environment. My vision, in this sense, was forever altered.The second change came from farming itself. I remember I returned to New York for a visit after my first year interning and the city looked tangibly different to me. It wasn't just a city of buildings, bars and concrete, but I could suddenly see Nature, creeping up out of the cracks in the sidewalks. I could see yards, parks, trees, animals. I noticed flowers and insects. I had lived in New York for nearly five years and never once did I really consider how much nature was there. Not enough, some might argue––I might argue––but more than I'd ever seen.And the most recent, and arguably most profound, change to my vision has been parenthood. My God, has parenthood changed my vision. I recently went to the market and all I could see were the kids. I saw infants and thought of Further in his first month on the planet. I saw toddlers and thought of his next few years. There were a few awkward teenagers, tall and gangly and uncomfortable. That, I couldn't help but think, will one day be Further. If I had never become a parent, I would have probably never noticed the other fathers, the other Furthers, the other mothers and families. But now I see them. Now I understand them. Now I get it. Now, I love it.What I appreciate about these three changes is how complimentary of one another they have been. The concern I developed for food through Omnivore's Dilemma pairs nicely with my newfound appreciation of nature and my life as a parent. I care about the future of this place for Further. I care about it for myself and for Hannah and for all the other parents. Nature, I care about Nature for every reason. Sometimes I admittedly wish I could just go back to fast food and laziness, but it's just not possible. I can't unlearn those things. Not as a parent. Not as a lover of food and Nature. Not with these eyes. Never again.- Jesse.

WHAT'S IN A NAME.

The midwives were still buzzing about the room, cleaning up and checking the baby, when Hannah and I looked at each other and asked the obvious question, "So what's his name?"You would think, having had nine months to chew it over, we would have been better prepared for this moment––many people have their babies named long before they're even pregnant. Not us. We weren't prepared at all. All the way up until our baby was born, we were still waffling.But Further just felt right. It was a name we'd talked about before, but it wasn't a family name. It didn't have any deeper meaning like "We want him to go FURTHER in his life," or some such thing. We just heard it once and liked it, and felt like it fit him. So after trying on a couple of names, Further was the one that stuck.But the other day I was sitting with Hannah and Further and I noticed Hannah's tattoo on her hip. She'd received it several years ago and the tattoo artist even told her if she ever had a baby, it would ruin it. Hilariously, she assured him that would not be a problem. She was never having children.The tattoo, however––which Hannah drew herself––is of Aslan, the lion from the Chronicles of Narnia (and, incidentally, the "God" character). And underneath Aslan is a banner that reads, "Further up, Further in." Neither of us had thought about it before he was born, but there is something beautiful about the fact that the random adverb we chose to call our son just so happened to be tattooed on Hannah long before he was ever born. Long before she even wanted to have children. So even when we had no idea what his name was, I guess Aslan must have known.- Jesse