Why I Cried

I'll be honest: it's been a rough week here, and this is not a happy blog entry. Overworked and underpaid is an understatement to how we're feeling right now... exacerbated by our sense of isolation both physically and socially. Example: We came home from a 14-hour day of arguing, harvesting, a flat tire, deliveries and selling veggies by bicycle in a downpour that made us $5, to half of our meat bird flock sleeping OUTSIDE their fencing. We knowingly cut out a lot of work for ourselves for just the two of us, but we were optimistic that things would fall into place with help from friends. Things get done, and friends do help, but halfway through this season it seems that from here out there are more and more things to do with fewer hands and more things to buy with fewer dollars. It's looking less and less likely that we'll be able to take ONE weekend off to spend together in Burlington for our anniversary because we can't find coverage for the animals, when what we need more than anything, more than equipment, more than money, more than getting stuff done, is a vacation. I truly feel good and am proud of what and how much we've accomplished and how self-disciplined I've become, but there needs to be a balance. We are burning out quicker than we can refuel, and there doesn't feel like a fill station is anywhere in sight.

Speaking of cars, on top of all that, the car that I bought in Mississippi is starting to be constantly needy at almost 200,000 miles. Flat tire (my fault), coolant leak ("fixed" for a week until Monday), still missing a title (from the sleaziest dealer in all the land). Let me put this out there: we have to drive everywhere for everything, and I'm really missing my two wheels. Especially when 90% of the professionals I deal with concerning my car are decidedly unprofessional, overcharging and treating me like an idiot because clearly women know nothing about cars. And the hoops to jump through to borrow a vehicle to get to where we need to go makes my passion for bike-centric living bloom like algae on the lake. And I have to laugh at the thought of even having time to take a recreational roll down the rail trail.

Yesterday I helped Andrea slaughter rabbits. I haven't participated in many animal processing (really just the one time with some old laying hens) but this one ran rather smoothly and I don't think it could have been more humane. Andrea processed the rabbits far away from the other ones, one at a time, and each one's life ended quickly. She showed me how to skin them and eviscerate them, and her partner Rick and I concurred that the only part that "got to us" was how warm their bodies are as you take them apart. I will spare the macro-shot pictures. With two more slaughter days this week I've been thinking a lot about my upbringing in a Kosher home and what it means to follow kashrut. There are many specifics to keeping Kosher but I have been most concerned with the aspects that address if the animal did not suffer in death and if the animal is "clean" enough to eat. Well let me tell you, we've got the most kosher pigs and rabbits you'll ever see, and I can guarantee they've had better lives, have/will have more humane slaughters, and have more scrutiny over the processing than many kosher factory processing plants of animals fed antibiotics and GMO corn.

So in light of all this, I came across this blog: The 'Why I Cried' Project. Felt cathartic to read and felt some solidarity with all the other passionate hardworking people out there. Complements one of the three books I'm currently reading nicely: The Greenhorns collection of essays by beginning farmers.

I know these feelings of frustration and anxiety will pass and that things have to get worse before they get better, but while I'm here I might as well cry about it, right?