I meant to do a Sustainability Saturday roundup of delicious and utilitarian canning recipes this weekend, but a) I had a roller derby bout which totally leveled me and b)… I went and bought another 25lbs of tomatoes and the canning continues this week! What was I thinking? (I’ll tell you what I was thinking: “I do not have enough quarts of tomatoes to make as much tomato soup as I will want to eat this winter.” This Saturday, canning roundup!
On Sunday, DH and I dragged my sore, tired self through the last day of the Western Washington State Fair (http://www.thefair.com – how envious must other fairs be of that URL). I was pleased to discover that DH is like me; i.e. actually finds great pleasure in meandering around middle school art exhibits, looking at quilts, and making goofy faces at the 4H kids’ bunnies. Poster board presentations on preparing for horse shows elicit smiles instead of impatient toe-tapping.
DH grew up in a farming community. I grew up in a hippie-turned-software-executive-but-we-still-pretend-we’re-hippies-even-though-we-drive-$60,000-cars community. Not exactly a comparable background there. But when I sneakily mentioned maybe wanting a farm someday, I was surprised when I hit a brick wall. (Also, apparently my sneaky skills need some work.)
“Farms are work,” he said. “24 hour, 7 day a week, hard work.”
I was initially insulted – of course I know farms are work. I am not one of those people with an aversion to hard work. But then I clarified that I didn’t really want a big farm, just a homestead. For some reason, changing what I was calling it made it worse, not better. Apparently big farms are better because they have people working for them, but a homestead… “Who’s going to feed the animals and [list, list, list].”
DH looked skeptical, and I can’t really blame him. He met me when I was living in DC working 60+ hours a week in an office building. He didn’t know me when I was taking care of six horses while working and going to school full-time, or working full-time in a 22 stall boarding facility. He’s never seen me haul hay and fix fences and wrangle large, cranky animals. I am definitely not under any illusions that having a farm is like playing Farmville – best done from the comfort of your climate-controlled office.
As we meandered through the pygmy goats and watched the babies play king of the log and butt heads, I continued to try to convince him that this was a good idea. No luck, but he is going to allow me to drag him down to visit these guys because “he’d see.” He is totally going to see.