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.

ENDANGERED FARMERS.

This past weekend, farmer Bren Smith penned an op ed for the New York Times titled, "Don't Let Your Children Grow up to be Farmers," and I cannot tell you how accurately it describes us and every farmer we know.The premise of the article is neatly summed up in the second paragraph with "The dirty secret of the food movement is that the much celebrated small-scale farmer isn't making a living." It goes on to state that negative $1,453 was the median income last year for farmers. Ouch.The reasons for this are myriad, but if we want the food movement to continue––for local food, grown with well-meaning hands to still be available––something has to change. Something big. In the article Bren makes an interesting point, that it is time for farmers to start shaping their own agenda. He goes on to say we need "loan forgiveness for college grads who pursue agriculture; programs to turn farmers from tenants into landowners; guaranteed affordable health care; and shifting subsidies from factory farms to family farms." But farmers, who make up such a small percentage of the population, can't do it alone. They need, and I cannot overstate this, their shareholder's help.You hear often that small farmers make up less than one percent of the farming population. Most farmers are conventional farmers. But that percentage is skewed, because it does not take into account CSA and market customers who, at least for the season in which they are participating, are in some ways farmer's themselves. Our friend Brent once said of the Bugtussle CSA that he and his wife can't farm––be it time or knowhow, they cannot grow the food they want to eat––thus they hire farmers to grow their food for them. And have for over ten years. They are investors, partial-owners or shareholders––however you would like to label them––but they depend on the success of Bugtussle in order to get the food they desire. So they, too, and every market shopper like them, have vested interest in the success of their small farm and should be counted in that percentage. With that in mind, for every small farmer who runs a CSA or who has regular market customers, they should know there are tens, if not hundreds of families in it with them. That percentage suddenly doesn't look so small.But the farmers need those shareholders to step up now––now before it gets to be too out of hand. Farmers need grant writers and lobbyists. The new agrarians need political allies, if not their own political party. Moreover, the country needs to create an environment in which young people would want to become small farmers––would feel the support. Because the world needs small farmers. They need them to protect wildlife, to increase habitat, to improve land and air quality, to prevent erosion, and to offer chemical-free, healthful food to those who want it. But they can't do it alone, and they can't do it for negative money. Farming has to be able to support a family, but right now it barely supports itself. If we want to keep small farms from extinction then, everyone has to acknowledge that we are all farmers, and do everything possible to keep ourselves, our farms, afloat.- Jesse

TEN REASONS WHY I COULD NEVER BE PRESIDENT.

Sometimes I realize that—beyond the obvious reasons, like not old enough, no college degree, nor ambition to do so—I would make a pretty terrible presidential candidate. And not because I can't make the vague speeches or engage in the political gibberish required, but because of what I feel, and would no doubt blurt out, that this country needs moving forward. But for the sake of entertainment, let's imagine what my candidacy, or more appropriately, the candidacy of my ideal president, might look like:1. I would absolutely, unequivocally, unabashedly, raise taxes. Especially, or perhaps exclusively, on the rich. These taxes would go towards eight month subsidized maternity leave for women, midwife coverage in healthcare (saving the system an average of $5,000-$10,000 per birth and the lives of thousands of moms and babies each year), free weekly cooking classes in every city, etc. (etc. = yet to be determined, but totally good stuff, I promise).2. I would encourage excessive spending over excessive savings. i.e. for every dollar over one million a citizen keeps in the bank, they would be taxed ten percent yearly. Thirty percent for every dollar over one billion. Hopefully, everyone would be encouraged to invest the rest in their local economy, in charities or in farmers––we need it.3. I would label GMO's––big labels––and legalize raw milk, hemp and indeed, marijuana––three things farmers could really use to grow.4. I would remove all subsidies for banks, oil companies, Big Ag, etc., and reallocate them to pay off the college debts of young entrepreneurs in farming, renewable energy, and conservation. Large corporations would just have to be happy with their already billions of dollars in revenue. Sorry.5. I would reward innovation in power. Anyone who has the background and a good idea for using renewable resources to power the world could be eligible for government funding, compliments of the aforementioned taxes on the grotesquely wealthy.6. I would invest heavily in finding coal- and natural gas-producing regions alternative incomes that were not coal or natural gas. Fracking would be outlawed and made to wear a dunce cap for the rest of History Class.7. I would outlaw watering, chemically fertilizing or chemically weeding lawns (you can see my votes dwindling, right?).8. Kitties for everyone. Puppies, too. Some might get a baby monkey (Some logistical issues with this one, but gets a few votes back).9. I would give tax breaks to people who use the humanure system. Also, I would push to get "humanure" put in the dictionary.10. I would outlaw plastic grocery bags, take soda pop out of food stamps, and demand federally-funded radio ads, TV spots and billboards all over the country that say "Just eat fresh food, cook most of it yourself, don't drink your calories, exercise, and you will lose weight! Promise." Or something to that effect.Okay, I've got way more than ten, but I'll stop there. That doesn't stop you, however, from telling me why you could never be President. So, what perfectly reasonable ideas would cause the country to not vote for you?- Jesse.

CANNING ON THE GRILL.

I really love canning. I do. I love preserving our own food. But the thing is, I also hate canning. It falls in the middle of the summer, and we cook with wood....which means, standing over a wood stove for hours on end in already 100 degree weather.This year, we experimented with canning outside, on the grill. It was, indeed, hot. And it still took all day. But I would say it was pretty successful, and we didn't heat up the cabin in the process! Best of all, the grill was still so hot when we were done that we baked brownies as a reward for all our hard work.How do you can your tomatoes?- Hannah.