QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

Because our internet time is so limited, we may not always get a chance to respond to your comments. But we always read them, and man we appreciate them. Seriously. You truly enrich our blog and we love the discussion and perspective your comments inspire. From Hannah and me, thank you. With that said, there were so many good questions asked this week––especially on this post ––that we'd love to answer, but hate tapping out a quick response in the thirty seconds we have to look at the site. So, if it's alright by you, we'd love to share a few of the answers.First, Milla who runs this amazing blog, asked us in the comments section of the "TORN" post, how we feel about the toll farming is taking on our bodies. And it's a great question. Truthfully, we think about it a lot. It's at the crux of what makes the decision of whether or not to slightly mechanize so hard. Take for example the other day, building those first beds [link] (which the walking tractor could have built in an hour or less). When I was done with my first bed I could barely hold Further. My back was sore. My arms were spent. I don't love that. I don't want that to be my life. So the question becomes, is doing things the hard way the sustainable thing to do? Because people like Jean-Martin Fortier and Eliot Coleman are mechanized (lightly) and their soil, their environment, and their bodies are still healthy. Or should we bite the bullet and either buy a walking tractor, or finally give the draft animal a shot?Well, speaking of the draft animal, Dawn, another sweet commenter, asked us if we'd be interested in using her family's Gelding. She didn't feel as if their situation was right for keeping one, but the truth is, when I look around, neither is ours. The one place we could keep some small draft animal, like a donkey perhaps, is also a place I might like for more garden space next year. I still want a draft animal––Rough DRAFT is no coincidence––and love that they eat grass and turn it into fertilizer, but I'm still not sure it makes sense on our small property.What about a wood gasifier for our walking tractor, our friend John asked. Or making our own diesel, as Jason suggested. I love these idea. I love the idea of using wood gas or biodiesel to replace fossil fuel usage. But I am an immaculately incompetent engineer. I look at the schematics of those things and the fight or flight mechanism in my brain lights up (is that normal?). Perhaps I just need a good teacher––or someone to help me build one. Jason also asked about electric tillers, solar charged. Definitely, we are looking out for these, though do typically find battery operated equipment to be painfully inferior to gas in terms of power. On our radar, though. For sure. Anyway, there were so many good questions, and you should read through them. And I could go on forever, but I'll stop there for now. If you like these comment responses, please let us know and we'll do more of them––ask us questions, for Hannah, myself, or both. If you're not into it, that's cool, too. Either way, just know how much we appreciate the comments, and your support. Thank you.- Jesse.

MESSY MONDAYS.

If you were wondering how we wash our cloth diapers, here is a shot of our washing machine:Cold water soak, hot water with soap and a plunger, cold water rinse, hang diapers over the stove to dry. Not too fancy but it gets the job done!

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.

MAKING BEDS.

I've had this idea for a while, but something about Jean-Martin Fortier's excellent book The Market Gardener ––which I mentioned last week in a post––gave me the inspiration needed to try it.The idea is this: I wanted to make permanent raised beds, much like JM, but I wanted to place the fertility underneath those beds––Hugel bed style. Also, I wanted to do it by hand. I'll explain.How it works is that there will be seven beds in total, and following JM's lead, these beds will ultimately be 30" wide, 18" apart. First I pull back the mulch, loosen the beds with our broadfork, and shovel the dirt to one side––leaving an 18" trench, about 8-10" deep.I then take that mulch, pull it back into the trench and pack it full. Like full full. So full that if you walk on it, it's still above the soil surface. If I had small square bales, I might just make the trench large enough to put use those end on end.Then I use our grubbing hoe to pull the dirt back over the mulch. To finish the bed, I go back on each side and pull the dirt up from the pathway, creating a trench and putting that dirt onto the bed as well. This raises the height and depth of the bed. The trench will remain as the pathway.My last order of business is to lightly mulch the bed as to create shade for worms, then I put old high tunnel plastic overtop to create warmth. My hope is to get weed seeds to germinate before our last freezes of the year, then pull the plastic off and let them die naturally. Come spring, I'll work the beds with a rake and plant.Of course, ideally I would have done this in the fall, because the beds will be best after several months. So I'm going to have to start by using crops without large taproots. No tomatoes or carrots in these beds probably this year––maybe by fall. Next year, I'll rotate the crops, and pull the dirt back up. But I don't think I'll add fertility. I don't think I'll need to.I should add that this has been extremely hard work––maybe even unsustainably so––so please get help if you try this. One person can do one 100' bed in one long, hard day. I wouldn't recommend more. Ultimately, it's an experiment, but I have faith it will work. And if it doesn't, you'll hear about it.- Jesse.