LIVING OFF THE LAND.

Although this is how people––including myself––have sometimes referred to the way Hannah and I live, something about the phrase "living off the land" feels inaccurate.Two things come to mind when I think of "living off" of something. First, there is living off-the-grid, in which one purposely removes oneself from the networks set up by government or private business––the grid––and tries to live without the conveniences of water or electricity, or tries to create those conveniences on his or her own. Either way, the idea is to live apart from the something, thus "off".The second idea evoked when I hear that phrase is living off one's parents, or off one's credit cards. To live off of something in this manner is perhaps to survive on something that is not one's own, or to frivolously live outside one's own means. So when I hear "living off the land" I think of someone either living detached from the land, or taking advantage of it. Perhaps even recklessly.It may very well be a silly prepositional difference (that I recognize no one will switch to), but I'd like to think we live with the land, not off of it. Hannah and I are not perfect, but we do attempt to give back much of what we take. As we clear our farm, we tread lightly into our forest, primarily using animals to fertilize and manage the woods to avoid erosion and preserve habitat. As we garden, we grow then replenish, using no-till methods everywhere possible, while trying to implement more permaculture systems slowly over time. When we forage or hunt, we take only what we need, and try and use every bit––or would, I suppose, if I were a better hunter. For the next couple years we will continue to live without electricity until we can afford an electrical system––solar, wind, thermal, etc.––that relies on a renewable resource, not on a finite supply of oil, or coal, or gas created by highly complex and slow-moving natural processes over billions of years. By living with the land then, we make it healthier, more bountiful, more productive, more diverse, create topsoil, encourage life, and give back. If we were living off of it, I feel as though we'd have little left, forced perhaps to turn to chemical fertilizers to convince anything to grow.Living off the land in this sense is precisely what we wanted to change about ourselves by choosing the lifestyle we did. We no longer wanted to be detached from all that sustained us. As physically hard and emotionally straining as it is, we wanted to know where our food came from, and we wanted to be a part of it––our food, our clothing, our water, etc.––as much as possible. In fact, maybe that's the question we should all ask ourselves in any decision––food, clothing, travel or otherwise: is this purchase or activity or lifestyle with the land, or off of it? Because the reality is that whether we live with the land, or off of it, we all indisputably need the land to live. And our children will, too.- Jesse.

A SATURDAY IN THE LIFE.

4:30 a.m.Snooze button.4:35 - 5 a.m.We get out of bed and take care of chores by the light of our headlamps, and hope we feed the right animals the right things. Cher picks us up in the truck at five and we head towards Nashville, a little sleepy from another poor Friday night of rest. It is becoming tradition for Friday night to be our sleeping nemesis.5 - 7 a.m.From Bugtussle to Gallatin it is another tradition to listen to NPR's Snap Judgment, a storytelling program akin to This American Life, only with more hip hop. Hannah and I find our new favorite quote during the episode: "You may say I can't sing, but you can't say I didn't sing.” That show really needs to be an hour and a half long, to get us all the way to market because the gardening show that follows it––not naming names––is a little hard to handle.7 - 7:30 a.m.Star Bagel for breakfast and coffee. Yet another tradition––a necessary one.7:30 - 8 a.m.Market set up. Ira, the Smith's ten-year-old, hauls all the baskets out the back of the truck and we unpack an unbelievable amount of food for the size of truck we bring. Hundreds of people will be fed this week from food we crammed into a 4x8x4 space. Farmers, notably, could always have a second career in packing––if that's a thing.8 - 12:30 p.m.These few hours are a blur of conversation and numbers. By the end of it we find ourselves both elated from interaction, and absolutely wiped out from it. It's like working in a retail shop where the only day you work every week is the busiest day of that week. Oh, but the rest of the week you spend hardly seeing anyone else at all. But we get to see the customers we love, and commiserate with fellow farmers, and by the end of it we have enough money to make it to next week's market. God willing.12:30 - 2:20 p.m.The drive home is a long one––traffic jams usually do that to trips. We listen to Barren River Breakdown, though, which doesn't speed up the trip but definitely gives it a worthwhile soundtrack.2:20 - 2:40 p.m.When we get home we tend to our animals who, though we feed, love and care for them like crazy, act like we've been gone for weeks. Our transplants, too. Farms are needy entities.2:40 - 3 p.m.An older neighbor stops by and we spend a little time chatting about our cabin and the goats and the chickens. This was our first time meeting this particular local and we really like him and his genuine interest in what we're doing. Our neighbors are amazing, and though they typically farm nothing like us, in some ways we can't farm like anything without them.3 - 3:15 p.m.Lunch. Sorta. It's amazing how difficult it is to eat well, or consistently, on the day we sell healthful food for a living.3:15 - 3:45Go to the spring to get water. This is a painful task because the farm is incredibly dry right now and the spring is really low so we can only take a little water––two gallons––at a time. Who do I have to write to get a rain around here?3: 45- 5:10We take a few minutes to go visit with the Smiths about market, which ends up being more like an hour, but it's nice. Visiting, like it was with the local just minutes earlier, is what binds community. Visiting with neighbors––the Smiths and the old timers––is not necessarily another Saturday tradition, but it definitely should be.5:10 - 6:50 p.m.I've been obsessed with making Hugel beds lately, which are a permaculture concept that essentially involves digging a ditch, filling that ditch with logs, and covering those logs with soil. The idea is that the logs will slowly break down over time and contribute years of fertility to your garden bed. It's like putting the fertility underneath the raised bed. So I spend a bit of the evening, and the rest of my energy, working on these––grounding myself.6:50 - 7:15 p.m.We still use firewood every day (despite the fact that it's summer) so I have to break down logs nearly every day. This time it's a particularly ornery cedar log that, by the morning, still remains mostly in tact.7:15 - 9Because it's Saturday night and farmers know how to party, we fill this time with dinner and a podcast, or more precisely, redfish pasta (the fish coming from the Smith's last vacation), and an episode of Judge John Hodgman podcast.9 p.m.Bed.- Jesse.

THE CSA PERSPECTIVE.

2013 was the perfect season to move into our cabin and start our business. Rain came regularly, the summer was mild, everything was productive and each harvest was fruitful. Unfortunately, 2014 has not been 2013.Not that we expected it to be, but some part of us must have because it has been a deeply disappointing year financially. What we expected to make this year and what we have made are two laughably different things so far. The tomatoes have been slow in coming. The rain has been nearly nonexistent, thus the chanterelles have been all but a bust. Farms are a place where you can actually say money grows on trees, but like all trees, the amount of fruit varies by season.Thankfully, however, we have our CSA.The CSA is the one thing keeping us afloat this year. If we were to rely entirely on market sales, we would have sunk long ago. As it stands right now, hard year or not, we're still floating. And the year is, I should say, turning around a little now. We've got some rain, albeit modest, and the tomatoes are starting to roll in. All of the potatoes are out, the onions, the garlic––we've got things to sell. But without the CSA we could have never got to this point. If you are part of our CSA, or any CSA, please know how big of a difference your early monetary sacrifice means to us––it means a lot. Everything in some years.- Jesse.

BLOG PROBLEMS.

The blog is having issues, y'all. First it stopped working completely. We got it back for a minute, and then it started looking funny and now all of our banners and buttons are gone or in the wrong place.  So until I can figure out all this HTML nonsense, it will be a little different looking. We apologize. I guess this is what happens when you try to run a blog while also living off- the-grid.But on a happier note, we had a great day at market this morning and sold lots of these beautiful tomatoes. How was your Saturday?PS : Anybody out there a web expert?- Hannah.