We've had rabbits before. Well, we've actually had rabbits for a long while. And daughter #2 has taken good care of them. Ah, but now we have these new rabbits to breed for meat and selling and daughter has a business plan for them and well, we're just excited about all the possibilities. This new black one may even already be pregnant.
And we got two blues and a white as well.
What have I been doing for the past month? Well, not all that much crocheting, I’ll tell you that. (Those dish rags will be going out but have not yet. I’ve never been good about getting stuff in the mail, just one of my many quirks. Don’t give up on me! And you bad people who haven’t sent me your address, send it already!)
Well, it has been more than this. And honestly, it has been a distraction. But sometimes life is distracting. The part of it most relevant to this blog has been the van. We have kids, we live way out, we don’t go in a lot compared with “normal” but we do go in. And sometimes we like to go in en famile. We first bought the van 12 years ago. It was a good van. Notice the tense of that verb. Was. It had about 150K miles on it when we bought it and we put over 100K miles on it ourselves, but I was driving it home when it started making a horrid noise and I started asking it to just please get me home. Please get me home. And it did, bless its heart. But I knew it was dead.
We had a vehicle fund, a small fund with which to buy a vehicle. Having this sort of thing has saved us more times than one. It wasn’t a larger fund for several reasons, among them that not a whole lot of money has flowed through this household in the past few years, but more importantly it is that we don’t really want a newer, larger, nicer vehicle. A car is just a box on some wheels to get you from one place to another not an extension of the illusion of self. Not that I don’t fantasize about a Suburban, but a Suburban costs a lot more money and uses a lot more gas. And gas, or peak oil, is another reason our vehicle fund was small . . . who wants to buy a nice, or more expensive, or new(er) vehicle when really, oil is going to run out (become prohibitively expensive). Besides, traveling hither and yon is just not attractive. Time to move on to other paradigms.
Ah, but the process of shopping for a bottom feeder van! First we had to fathom through what did we really want and what were our options? Did we want to look at a Suburban? (no) Did we want to look at a smaller car with better mileage but that wouldn’t hold us all? (no) And as to vans, what kinds would we really seriously consider? In the end we decided to go with the kind of van we’ve always had and know how to work on, and we avoided complications like all wheel drive because they are just something else that can tear up.
But the process is obviously looking through all those different things. And the process is not without emotional involvement. The truth is that when one is looking to buy a vehicle that people who live in government housing projects are looking to sell, well, it can be a bit disconcerting. That we seriously considered the “naked she-devil” van with a broken out window and two doors that didn’t work was quite disconcerting.
What was downright funny was the speech the she-devil van’s dealer gave me about why we needed to finance his overpriced piece of junk - because in a few months, when we found a better car, it would be easier to “move up” into it if we already had something financed, and besides that, he sells furniture and appliances too and if our stove went out, why, if we had a car financed, we could just call him and for $100 dollars he’d bring us a new stove. !!! Can I even count how many things are wrong in that sentence? I stood there in the rain that day and just looked at him. I suppose that’s why he kept talking for that long. I finally told him I hadn’t financed by bleeping house, I certainly wasn’t going to finance a car, much less a beat up piece of junk van with 150K miles on it.
The other side of the emotional involvement was the people who helped, or offered to help. It is one of those “ho I am full” things, and something I in no way take for granted. Friends. Real friends. It has been a long time since I had them and I am thankful.
What happened was this: The van died. We gathered our resources and looked really hard for a week and everything we looked at was eliminated for one reason or another until finally, defeated, we had nothing left to go look at. At that point we decided to back off a bit and to accept an offer of help (a loaner car so we wouldn’t just have one antique vehicle subject to unexpected breakdowns). We had just picked up the loaner car and spent a relaxed morning at the barn riding and were on our way to town to do a few errands and eat a bite. We’d just said to each other, wow, it feels good to relax about this, and now that we’re relaxed, something suitable can show up. Less than a block after we said that, there was a van for sale. I pulled in and we dialed the number. Less than 24 hours later the deal was made.
(but I will also point out that relaxing before putting in the work doesn't manifest this same magic, just so you know and are not mislead into being a lazy bum)
Here is what else happened: The new van is an older van, only slightly newer than our old one. It didn’t have its rear seats and several doodads were broken. Ah, but our old seats fit it and after we got it home we set about fixing all the broken stuff on it with stuff off our old van. It is really very much fun to have parts of our old faithful van traveling with us. And you know David’s coat of many colors? Well, it doesn’t have anything on our van!
Here is hoping this new old van stays with us until the end of oil.
THE In-the-Least-Things GIVE-AWAY Concludes!!!!
Well, here it is past the tenth of March and I ain't finished up my give-away even. It ain't time to change my heading picture yet but the leaves will be on the trees again and even I believe that now, after this long, hard, cold, seemingly endless winter. The grass is thinking about greening and it'll bring a tear of gratitude to a body.
I had this other thing I was wanting to write, something about my eldest child reaching his age of majority, but for the life of me I can't remember how it started out in my mind and I can't write it without that. It is probably just as well: I don't tend to write too much about my kids, or our family's unschooling way of life, because when I try to, it sounds stilted. I can't capture the magic of it, the whole cloth of it, just little tiny strings that don't mean much by themselves.
And I never, ever think I get across how important I think this all is. It is like unschooling is many ways, which is far less about what you do than what you don't do. If you want to unschool, what you don't do is schoolish things, like workbooks and scheduled sit down sessions and you don't live a life that depends on external validation. If you want to homestead, if you want to survive and thrive, what you don't do is live large. You can taste large, like you can taste lobster, but if your plan for lunch depends on lobster, you are most likely going hungry round these parts.
This give-away is for me about tasting how sweet the small is, and about moving in that direction. A dishrag isn't a big thing, and that is exactly the point. Life really isn't about the once-in-a-lifetime things. Success isn't about, well, anything that people think it is about. I may still have this People magazine somewhere because I'm funny like that, I tend to keep things that pointed me true. I don't tend to be a big fan of the Kennedy's, or of documentaries, and especially not of documentaries of southern Appalachia (they are either filled with pity for us or are making fun of us, and pretty much all documentaries are condescending and meant to change whatever it is they are looking at), but I read this review of a documentary that (I think) Rory Kennedy had made in eastern Kentucky, right over the mountain from where I was raised. The reviewer, who was condescending, quoted Rory, who was not -- she said, "I learned that success can be measured in other ways, like how close your children choose to live to you after they are grown."
Success can be measured in other ways.
Everyone who played with me is a success.
*Madcap probably makes way more stuff than I do and I love her potholders! But her candle dripping saving is one of these things, I think, that is maybe just a bit outside what we normally do and yet simplifies things.
*Mickle knits her own dish rags instead of crocheting.
*Wendy does tons and tons of stuff, I'd almost think she was a kind of a purist from following her blog, at least way more than I am. It was her deodorant that I liked the best -- something I hadn't even thought of trying to do myself. If you want to make yours, how to is in the comments section of the give-away post. Should I get around to trying this myself, I may post it on the blog.
*I'm not sure whether Clairsgarden wanted to "play" or not, but she remembers the dish rags from her granny and will pass the idea on.
*Mrs. H gave us all the most to ponder, and I'm just going to include an excerpt of her comment:
It was when we were able to see with eyes wide open that for the most part, everything we knew, had been taught, had learned was pretty much a lie, at least to us. You will find it in the public school systems, in government, the stock market, your place of employment, in medicine, and marketing. . . . Today, we enjoy each other's company, have come to a natural division of labor, and continually find new and exciting ways to get the most out of everything. Truly, for us, we find pleasure in-the-least of things, freedom of mind, body, and spirit is what we hold most dear.Really, you should read her whole comment, and Mr. H's blog.
February has been rather quiet I suppose. Frozen, snowy, and when not frozen, muddy. Hard to get much done except the stuff required to stay warm. Oh, we did have two nice days -- they were so welcome. I've thought a lot of thoughts, of course, always do, and continued to watch the economy and the country collapse and be amazed by the denial involved in that.
A girlfriend that I grew up with was found dead in bed the other day. My age. No pre-existing conditions, just had had some stomach flu for a couple days. And not that I'd seen her in 30 years. But still.
Both of my parents died in the last decade, my dad ten years ago this year, my mom two and a half years ago.
So you pull a carrot from the ground, or you chop the head off a cabbage, or you hold a chicken in your arms and it is warm and breathing and then you chop its head off and pluck it and turn it all into dinner: That's how mortality is. Not dramatic. Death scenes are not romantic or heroic; they might be rattling or they might catch you off-guard but they are really daily, like what's-for-supper.
So we die.
But how do we live?
That's the question that I keep coming back to again and again. It isn't a mortality dependent thing. There is no bucket list to complete. But there are questions that include -- are you honorable? and, well, are you honorable. I mean, it is such a trick question, isn't it? I'm not much of a one for dichotomies, but is one more concerned with superficialities or depth? Has one, in one's life, produced more useful stuff than he has consumed? Has one kept one's promises? Done what he has said he would do?
When I think of my children, what do I want for them and how am I providing that? I want them to know how to live with a sense of abundance, but also know how to live small, where abundance is easier. I want them to be able to pursue whatever it is they are interested in, but also be able to support themselves. I want them to know that the secrets of life include butter and not being suckered into debt. I want them to know they are loved beyond any doubting and that they always have each other.
We provide that by, hopefully, living that.
or When It’s Easy, That’s When It’s Supposed to Happen
Now, it may seem as though the above titles are diametric opposites, but they are mystically the same thing.
The first one became known to us when we decided to have our first child. That’s when it first occurred that there would never be a good time, when everything was smooth and everything was ready and nothing seemed in the way. We figured if we waited until it seemed like the perfect time to have a kid, we’d never do it.
So we had four.
The second one I remember saying to a fiend about a desire I have to assist a large animal vet. I still believe there just might come a time when it becomes possible (easy) for me to do this. Because while I definitely decided that I have no desire to actually BE a veterinarian, I would still like to know everything a vet knows (if only to discard most of it as allopathic hogwash).
It seems like I’ve been cow shopping forever. I’ve had out feelers, been telling everyone I know for at least a couple of years. We finally found what seemed a suitable and affordable cow back in November, but she was one hundred miles away. And then everything that could get in the way of it did. There were reasons we couldn’t borrow this trailer or that one, then when we were going to rent one, the truck we were going to use blew its engine, then there was snow and cold and more snow and more cold and all that goes in to handling that. Then we found her a ride and were waiting to coordinate it with this horse owner and that horse trainer and the cow folks when suddenly it became easy.
Suddenly as in tomorrow! A sick horse needed to go to the university large animal hospital for some tests and coming home we could pick up the cow. Tomorrow. My first reaction was, oh goodness, there is no way. But then I thought, why not? There is never going to be a good time, a time when we feel like we have everything all ready and all lined up for her, and this trip was just so easy so it must be supposed to happen. See how those things do too go together? And so very suddenly we were on the road at 7 am, and back at the barn, well, I don’t know what time it was but it was dark. She spent the night in the brood mare stall, the horse who was living there generously offering it over to us for the night. She freaked out a few horses as she made her way down the barn aisle but none too badly. She brought in sightseers (horse people) from far and wide to get a glimpse of this cow in a horse barn. Even the vet got a look at her the next morning. I milked her for the first time (and it was also the first time she’d ever been hand milked ever), there, in that stall, untied, with an audience.
Then we brought her home. My horse barn boss, who was doing the hauling, knew vaguely where we lived but had never been out here before. She said she has more respect now for how far out we live! And the day the cow came home, the weather was the worst, cold, raining and blowing hard, and it had rained so much that the bridge was flowing with water which I don’t think I’ve ever seen it quite do that before. But the cow got off the trailer at the road and crossed that flooded bridge and came on up here. She’d evidently never seen chickens before and missed going in her temporary pen the first time because of them. But after a quick trip around the pasture and some quick herd introductions, she made it in the pen on the second try. She has settled in, so far, so good.
Of course, nothing is all the way easy, thus that weather, and thus her really small teats which are quite the challenge to milk by hand. And she isn’t giving a whole lot of milk just now but she is due to freshen in a few months. So there is still stuff to work out. But there always is.
I’m not doing too well with photos lately so none yet, but there will eventually be some.
He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much: and he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much. Luke 16:10
I do not know what has possessed me, but I’m having my very first ever Contrary Goddess’ Life on the Farm give away!
You know, we’ve been living the life for years now. And there are thousands of steps in it. I remember the first loaf of bread we made up here. It wasn’t a first ever loaf of bread for either of us but it was the first ever loaf with the idea that we’d just make most of our own bread from now on. We made it not for any ideological reasons but because we were only two people (and a baby) at the time and we didn’t have a freezer, so if we bought any quantity of bread at a time, it might mold before we could finish it. But we were a long way from town. We didn’t go often. We like bread.
And what we did was we got a bread machine. And eventually that evolved, and morphed, and changed, and went back and forth a few times, and in fact I still have a bread machine that I use semi-regularly (although the current one has never actually baked a single loaf), and we're still making most of our own bread.
When we started the garden, we dug four beds. When we started the orchard, we planted four trees. When we started the house, well, that was a l-o-n-g process.
So, everything in the whole is a process. However, it isn’t a process in which every little thing counts. Every little thing counts only if it is on a path that is both sustainable and that speaks to your soul and allows your heart to sing. Every little thing actually counts against you if the little thing is really excuse to not do something else, something harder. And it isn’t anything that has to be hard -- you don’t have to make it some BIG thing, some labeled thing, something to have chats about, create online communities to support. It is just living your life, but living it honorably and morally and with good judgment. If it is too hard, you are probably doing something wrong.
But there are things, often enough tiny things, that are part of the process, part of the movement in the direction of choice. What I am giving away are two of these things.
I used to love using dish sponges to wash dishes, clean counters, etc. Nevermind all the stuff about them harboring bacteria, that’s what I liked to use. Such a small thing, so I kept using them. Until their price went up and my cash went down. I don’t even know how it happened exactly, that first one. I’m sure it had to do with my mother-in-law and I think she just mentioned that she liked them because you could bleach them. I believe I had the yarn already, had already reminded myself of how to crochet. I remember doing the first one, following the pattern that was on the yarn, and it was too big to ever get rung out and way too complicated. We simplified and shrank them and experimented with what stitching qualities made them last longer. Eventually our daughter added them to her repertoire -- she’s quite the needlewoman. She not only usually keeps me supplied but she has sold them. Crocheted dish rags. I like them small and easy to manipulate and plain and tight.
Ah, but then the problem was the scrubbies, which had come on the back of some of the dish sponges. The commercial Teflon-type ones get grossly dirty. The curly ones get snagged and unravel. Eventually we came across the idea of using an old onion or potato net bag, cutting it to strips, and crocheting it into a round scrubby. Works like a charm and comes clean and last forever.
These are small things, but they are things we use every.single.day. They are useful as well as decorative. They involve some amount of recycling, some DIY, some non-consumerism.
And I am giving one of each away. Proudly made by my daughter.
Here’s what you have to do to win them: Share something that has been to your life like these have to mine, something that others might emulate. It can be tiny or big. If it has a funny story you probably have a better chance of winning since that decision is purely subjective. I have no idea what it might be for you, what has furthered you, what has helped your boat to float. But I hope you will play.
Play in the comments section, or if you think it is too long or you want to include a photo or something, play on your blog with a link in the comments of this post. I’d rather you not e-mail me because the whole point if for it to be public, to be shared, to be inspiration or at least amusement.
I am going to leave this open until for the duration of February. Please feel free to spread the word and invite your friends to play too.
I am no defender of Marx. In the parlance of “how’s that workin’ for ya,” it hasn’t worked anywhere. His overwhelming mistake was in the motivation of people -- from each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs is not motivation to have more abilities than needs. And look at me even, and even in my state now which I think is a pretty productive, one of the reasons I was very opposed to the idea of Hillary becoming president was that I could see her coming to me and saying, hey, you have a degree in social work, you have to move to the city and use it, do the work of the state. Social work was dismal as it was and that would have only made it so much worse. No thanks.
The truth is, I’m not a student of Marx, or of economic theories in general. However, some of my thinking on the subject seems to be in line with some of Marx’s thinking. Like the alienation of the worker from his product. As a society now, we’re so far removed from our product that the whole d*mn country no longer produces anything real, and so almost no one is connected by work to his product because there isn’t a product to be connected to. Throwing bits and bytes around isn’t real, derivatives aren’t real, humanistic feel good groups are not real, even art is not real (more on that later). None of this “not-real-ness” means these things aren’t or can’t be valuable but they aren’t in the realm of “needs” and therefore also not in the realm of “abilities”.
Buying labor by the hour is simply another form of slavery. Marx talked about it in terms of the proletariat and the bourgeoisie. The bourgeoisie had a very negative connotation in his thought, exploitative, but in the social structures he was familiar with, it was basically what we’d call the middle class today. In this country we’ve come to almost deify the middle class -- so much so that people who make $20K/yr and people who make $250K/yr all consider themselves to be “middle class”. But basically, if you are selling your labor, you are proletariat; and if you are buying someone else’s labor, you are bourgeoisie. In this country, there is pretty much no one who doesn’t do more buying of labor than selling of it (especially if you take into consideration the “real-ness” of the labor selling vs. the labor buying).
There is this thing, you see, the difference in value-in-use and value-in exchange -- that water is very valuable in use but not in exchange, and a diamond is not very useful but very valuable in exchange. I have chosen personally to deliberately place more value on things that are valuable-in-use and to largely disdain those things that are only valuable-in-exchange. Valuable-in-use essentially feeds people, keeps them warm, allows them their lives with which to do as they please. Valuable-in-exchange essentially exploits people, steals from them, asks them to look outside themselves and their own abilities for value. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I mean when I differentiate between real work from non-real work. And, as I said, it is even worse in the US because most people don’t even have a product to be alienated from.
Obama said in last night’s speech, and I quote: “As hard as it may be, as uncomfortable and contentious as the debates may become, it's time to get serious about fixing the problems that are hampering our growth.” He used some term that included “grow” eleven times, and at least six of those times he was talking about the economy or jobs growing. Jobs jobs jobs growth growth growth is all either side spouts.
Growth is the problem people. The jobs are slavery, the growth is cancer. Our standard of living is the problem. We have to get smaller, rein in our ambitions, learn contentment, the value of satiety, the meaning of enough; the environment needs that, social justice demands that, combating terrorism requires it. Do you fear mountain top removal or the possibility of another massive terrorist attack? Do you care about sweatshops in Indonesia or the children of Haiti? Then less consumption (that is, a lower standard of living, less traveling, doing without in general and reveling in the abundance of that) is the only thing that will help any of them.
So what then of art? What then of music, of fine food, of literature? There may be a few musicians and artists and authors who are so outstandingly good that, without coercion, with little exploitation of others, they might be fed and kept warm through the exchange of their art. But better is the tradition that we all materially support ourselves with our direct use of goods, and also all engage in our own form of artistry. When the artistry is not paid, it is not corrupted. When it is engaged in by everyone, it is appreciated by everyone.
It is hopeless of course because in the end it requires that people get really honest. Health care reform means many things but at bottom it does mean less health care. And it means financially poorer doctors. And fewer scans. And a LOT less drugs. Weird people are gonna have to be let be weird instead of being medicated into submission. Restless legs may have to remain restless. Many diseases will actually be cured by this, like MRSA. Ironically there will be a lot less anxiety when people have something real to worry about. People who are lazy, or unlucky, or stupid, may actually be hungry, and may actually see their children go hungry. People who would rather consume than secure for their family the means of production, well, I won’t cry for you Argentina.
We have to remember who we are. If we could do that as a country, we really could lead the world. To peace. To abundance. To cooperation.
Because she is beautiful
Because they are cute.
And just because.I think I probably spend a lot of time on this blog extolling the pleasures of this lifestyle. So forgive me if I indulge in one quick moment of whining: I don’t believe the temperature here has been above freezing in 20 days at least. It has been three weeks now that the highs haven’t been out of the low twenties -- I know because highs in the twenties require insulated coveralls to work in and this is the third week I’ll be wearing them. With the highs in the twenties, the lows have been single digits. Every night they predict lows in the teens but every morning we wake up to single digits.
That much cold starts making things hard. Wood is frozen and sawing frozen wood is, well, imagine using a bread knife saw through frozen steak. When bucking up a big log with only a buck saw while snow’s on the ground , a chainsaw begins to look tempting even to us. The van’s fan belt broke and we can’t fix it until it warms up. The truck’s choke sticks. I’ve gotten the truck stuck twice on the steep part of the hill which has meant backing it down the steep part of the hill (and then all the way back out to the road) twice now -- once I was successful and once I needed a come along to finish turning the truck around after it slid exactly crossways in the road. There’s a valve in the water pressure tank that is protected in the basement and even it has frozen three times. The house is considered warm if it gets up to 60 degrees.
ENOUGH!
Here’s what I have to say. We could easily fix all those things and never ever have to put up with them again. We could have a four wheel drive vehicle that isn’t officially an antique. We could have a working chainsaw. We could have a damn tractor. We could have all the trappings of civilization. We could have all the thing’s everyone else has.
And here’s what we’d have to give up to have it. Everything. Because to have the chainsaw on the one day it would come in handy, we’d have to live to afford it every other day of the year. Likewise, in order to have the nice, nearly new family vehicle and 4WD truck and a tractor, we’d have to live to afford it every other day of the year.
And that living to afford it means not living like we do live, the personally, family, socially, globally, environmentally, spiritually (and every other way) responsible life we’ve grown together here on this mountain.
It is a privilege to huddle together over the fires sharing a cup of tea and figuring out how to get the minimum done while we enjoy each other and wait for it to warm up just a bit.
And even people who give up everything to have all the thing’s everyone else does have times that challenge them too. They don’t get out of that -- they just give up the possibility of everything else.
We don't actually produce much garbage but still, it has to go out sometime. This time, it got from the house to the can rather quickly.
Even the flatter parts are sled negotiable . . .
. . . sometimes with "paddles" (sticks) for speed and steering.
And this is how supplies get back up the hill when the road is impassible. It seems it is always dark by the time we get to this part, but it also seems that we always have fun doing it and that a party always ensues.It probably doesn’t surprise you that I’m not much for conventional medicine. It might surprise you that I’m not much for unconventional medicine/intervention either. I am appalled by how many drugs everyone is on for everything but I don’t figure my thoughts matter all that much.
I do believe in creating health. Which I think requires some sideways thinking.
And I have a lot of sideways thoughts about all things medical. At the barn, two horses recently tested positive for parasites. The vets told us at the last big horse vet meeting they’d been to, all the talk had been about built up resistance to wormers. Because I’ve tried to stay current, I know that the most common strategy is to worm every two months rotating wormers each time. But another line of thought is to use the same wormer every two months and do fecal tests a time or two a year and switch only when one type stops working. And then there are the fringe herbal wormer people who mostly want to sell you something just exactly like the drug companies want to sell you something.
So where do my thoughts come down on it? I think the basic mistake has been to try to eliminate worms entirely. I don’t know that my strategy works the best but the health of my herd seems ok. I worm once per year, in the early winter . . . unless I see evidence/reason to do more. When I have it available, I let them free choice wormwood which mostly applies to the goats.
On that same sort of reasoning level, I was reading an article about MRSA. My mom had MRSA before she died. This article said Norway had found a solution. A SOLUTION. Wow. What is that? To not prescribe antibiotics, particularly two classes of antibiotics known to provoke MRSA. However the article was very careful NOT to name what those two classes are (they are fluoroquinolones and cephalosporins if you are like me and have to know). They also tested and treated for MRSA (commonly harmless on skin, and easy to treat then too), and used isolation, in Norway and in Britain and in the US -- and it not only cut MRSA infections but all hospital acquired infections.
So I don’t know if my using radically less worming drugs works, but using radically less antibiotics does. And penicillin based antibiotics are the only ones that aren’t toxic too -- all the more reason to keep them effective. Think of all other antibiotics as insecticides. Antibiotics are great things -- used exceedingly sparingly.
I think the same is true of wormers. Some time ago (so I don’t have the link) I read an article that said having a few intestinal worms increased the efficacy of the immune system. Bet it works for horses too!
