Life through Windows

Snow walking. It’s a calming, meditative activity, and at these times in life I’m grateful for quiet winter hikes with cushioned air and subtle beauty that feels like a buffer to my heart. Winter isn’t an easy season, on many levels. Choosing a seasonal career that ends right about when bills rise and holiday expectations are high- 

But that’s not important to me. Let’s just segue into where my thoughts have been. 

I just finished a popular mystery book- I was sucked in, and, due to my current state of mind internalized the main character’s actions and emotions more than I would during other times in my life. She was a miserable mess, dragging weight of an unhealed marital wound around, and glimpsing into others’ lives from her passenger perspective on a train. She imagined picturesque lives from the seconds-long glimpses she got, and placed perfect dreams into their imperfect lives. 

In the end, she realized those frames she enhanced were actually glimpses at the off-moments of a nightmare. The knights and damsels were actually villains and victims. Her own depression started by a villain-crowned-prince in her selective memories and gaslighting he performed on her. In the end- her real state was much better off than her imagined stars in a picturesque fairy tale, and she- the seemingly obvious loser- through fortunate glimpses and timing, and then her pursuit of the truth, brought justice and realities forward. 

I recall all this for you because I relate to her- not the unlikely heroine in a murder mystery, but the sad mess of a person carrying around emotional pain of circumstances that aren’t necessarily all that bad. The life she dreamed of- that she lost- was one with a psychotic killer- yet she believed all the false evil about herself he whispered in her ear. And while it never quite rang true- she broke under the weight of guilt that was never hers to carry. Thankfully her internal voice overpowered the whispers of false reality, but for a long time, she was yoked with what another told her she was, and equally crushed by the perfect lives she perceived others had through her self-tinted view into their lives. 

While reading, I would at times be thankful I wasn’t quite the

mess she was, drunken, jobless, and hopeless- but I recognized the whispers of shame and guilt she allowed to become narrators in her life. The desire to insert herself into what appeared to be bliss. To help right a wrong in another’s mostly perfect life because hers just wasn’t worth saving. But in the end- theirs was the disaster, carefully hidden. Hers, while by outwardly appearances dank- was easily changeable- she was free of the monsters from without. She just had to clear their voices of influence from her head. 

Last year, at this exact moment, I was walking the snowy woods up north, with someone whose life I had passenger train views into- and imagined it quite delightful. It was, however, an unfinished nightmare, to which I could be of no help, and had to sever myself. Today I walk the woods alone. Fighting whispers that angle to become narrators. As I walk, I endeavor to stop looking out windows at lives flashing by, seeing as I choose to see and misunderstanding the scenes that occur when trains go silent. Passenger views are skewed and biased. I set the stage with my own emotions, imagine outcomes based on my own expectations, and in the end, any insertion is but an unneeded intruder complicating a scene not meant for me. My view is turned inward, and upward, where my heart is beating, my hands are reaching, and the stage is mine for setting. Vignettes are just that, fleeting scenes we impose our own context upon, with consequences tied to how long we gaze there. 

Strangers and Friends

Friends that become strangers. Strangers that become friends. I’d say I have an even number of both that float throughout my life. Today, while sorting through papers and books, I opened a book I quite forgot I had to find a letter from someone I can’t quite forget I once had. I suppose ‘stranger’ would be the correct term for who we are now to each other, though- thanks to modern technology we float in each others’ background static collection of online friends. Where once words came in a rush now we only silently glance into each other’s lives through a screen.

I met someone last night. Oh, don’t get excited, I’m always meeting someone. They’re all interesting in their own way. I fascinate some, for a time. Some even fascinate me. And some become old letters in forgotten books; not quite deserving to be culled, yet there is the unspoken space- I can’t say agreement because I rarely agree- that words no longer flow through our connection. I used to wrack my brain in agony trying to solve the usually abrupt disconnect, and was puzzled even further that we never mutually severed all connection- and that, at times, I could even find them actively watching, as a stranger at the window into the life I lead curtains thrown for all to see. 

Two of them immediately come to mind- and both are integral motivations behind my bus journey. Strong, sweet connections that were severed- I’d wager- for similar reasons. Broken by what they put their heart into, they have trained themselves to be fiercely cautious to ever open their hearts again. And yet, our connection caught them off-guard- they opened- so beautifully to me; their eyes spoke of dreams again, their words an eager flow to my welcoming presence, and I watched enraptured as hope bloomed with connection. A common passion was shared, and theirs caught fire with every animated communication.

I watched transfixed as these determined warriors found spark after spark of motivation to just “be” again. Their knowledge and passion in turn, fueled mine, and for that I’m ever grateful. But they are broken, damaged, and still very guarded creatures. I don’t say this as an excuse, but what I have come to understand. I know they are still watching, that the forgotten book holds unforgettable words that speak of a fire that must be fueled. I am grateful for the strangers that have become friends. But I journey for the friends who know safety only by again becoming strangers. 

No more distractions-

Why is a windy day such an inspiration to write? As I walk through the woods and breezes stir the leaves around me, they simultaneously stir up thoughts and forms sentences- even as I try to push them away. I think back to some of the first words I penned for others to see- heady thoughts about jumping or easing in and the declaration that I was jumping- and yet I still feel I walk the cliff’s edge. 

I cashed the check today- so I have the money for the bus immediately on hand for any opportunity that presents itself. I have open invitations of friends to help assess the bus, access to a wood shop to build the inside, all the steps lay poised to take- and don’t worry- take them I will. I owe it to myself to make this dream happen. And while I don’t necessarily owe it to others, I want to give others a chance to see me create this journey- alone. 

Many people have expressed that they are vicariously living through me, and envy my freedom to take on such an endeavor. One that the trappings of their life would never allow for- trappings- such an appropriate word- that I have somehow avoided or slithered from- intentionally or unintentionally- my whole life.  

My best friend and I have had countless talks about my life, my penchant to gravitate towards the strangest, most solitary and temporary paths- all connected by their ignition of passion inside me. She warned me that this journey is too big to get side railed by my usual pitfall. And I do agree with her, it’s too important to let the tugs of normalcy that many around me gracefully manage to navigate derail me- for they have always been pitfalls of disaster.

 At 37, I have almost completely accepted I’ll be alone for life- not because I am inadequate- but try as I might, it never wears well on me. I’m meant to be this odd creature- and when I embrace it I glow. When I, at moments of weakness seek simple solace in a coupled companionship, my dreams are neglected. And I wither. So, the cliff is an internal admission of solitude. An active end to pursuing any romantic encounters, even when thrust in my lap. 

But I’m human, you see? I have a longing for that life sometimes- no matter how impractical it is for one like me. I go after it, and often self-sabotage in the midst. Talking of bus plans, or how I’m not sure a long term commitment really fosters growth for both parties. If only dating were a silent endeavor. 

But alas, embrace myself I must. Jump off this cliff I must. Forsake that silly longing I must. For this journey calls- I can’t even articulate the long term outcome- but it’s time to just jump. Failing isn’t the worry. I’ve failed many times. I embrace those failures. I think I fear the success. That I can never go back from this step into bus life and pretend to lead anything even resembling what others can relate to as a life. What’s so bad about that anyway? Nothing I suppose. There’s really no blueprint for my journey. No boundaries to my destinations.

No guidance to my way-points. And yes, the journey awaits- 

An Ordinary October Day

October is one of my most favorite months, and I know I'm not alone in this sentiment. It is a beautiful time of year: crisp autumn at it's finest. To me, autumn is the swiftest season change of the year. Inspirational quotations eloquently speak of the leaves teaching us to let go, and about trees showing colors they've hid all year and with trees as the metaphor, who could deny the beauty of such a sentiment. But in reality as I feel the winds of this October tear the leaves from my branches, I feel anything but settled for a season of slumber. In fact, I feel the stripping exposure unnerving, and I'm not ready for my October.

Finding time to look for my bus has become difficult with other things I'm juggling- and I'm struggling with all these time investments that I feel are eating away at my bus plan. Have you ever stepped into your closet determined to purge out a significant amount only to end up with that ugly old sweater you never wore anyhow and three mismatched socks as the best you could do and question your own ability to let go? How bad do I want this? It's going to take extreme dedication and all my extra cash- which, let's be real, isn't much. No, the real challenge is the mental purging of all these leaves that have served their time and need to drop, leaving me bare to pursue a time of intense dedication to this plan- and only this plan. It's not selfish, it's the season of change. And after letting loose the dried up pieces that are literally pushed off by next years' buds, standing skeletal to myself is the necessary preservation of energy I need for the next step of growth.

I know, I know, the metaphor is getting heavy. It was a heavy day. If you were a fly on the wall of my day you'd be hard-pressed to see why. From appearances it was an easy day, and quite beautiful at that. But I feel pulled in all directions, and at the same time I have the desire to be shrinking into myself in hibernation. The end of the growing season is hard and I have three different paying jobs, and in each I operate completely differently. Then there is my significant volunteer activity, that is hard to scale back because I am so passionate about it. Thankfully my son knows what a nutty life I lead and our time together-though he's a teenager- is a salve for my otherwise spastic life.

I began writing this post to untangle all the anxious thoughts that were creating a bramble in my brain. This is one of those times it isn't working. But I'll continue to write anyway. Last week I attended a social media conference to learn more about how I can run platforms for small farms I plan to visit in the bus, as well as how to form the actual business of the bus plan. I learned a lot of snippets of information that didn't really congeal into a plan as I had hoped attending would help accomplish. Perhaps it's knowledge gained that I'm not yet prepared to apply.

One of the things that resonated with me was a talk on authenticity. Much of social media is the selected highs and lows to elicit a response. The perceived mundane is left out as not interesting and yet these regular moments are what tie us together the most. This post is a regular moment. I feel overwhelmed, disorganized and fearful of not enough time to execute my plan. I'm at a stalled point. Nothing is "happening" and yet- that's life. Today's nothing is the very string that attaches to the moment you'll all jump joyfully with me when I announce- "The bus is here!". There's no profound over-arching theme to this other than, it's another day where I'm on my way. This bus plan is a complicated, intricate plan. Sitting here typing (and focusing on the practical steps rather than the overwhelming feeling of foreboding I've been fighting) is beginning to help sharpen focus on the immediate next steps. I need to find the bus. All leads thus far have been dead. And I've had so many roles to fill that I haven't been able to look as hard as I should. Progress is slow. I have things that must be done before winter. But yes, it's still October.

On Buslife-

 I've thought of closing this blog and starting a new one for Buslife- but I decided I'd just re-purpose the B's- that's what this life is all about anyhow re-purposing. So this blog will now highlight other B words (not that one!) that personify the life of B.

Barefoot. Physically I get cold feet a lot and I'm wearing fuzzy socks by early September. Barefoot speaks to how I walk this life. Constant direct contact with whatever path I am on and deeply feeling every step I commit myself to walk.

Brave. I have often been told I am a brave person. A wise man once said there is a thin line between bravery and stupidity and I've fallen on both sides of that line throughout my life. I've wasted, stifled, and used my boldness for acts that mattered little in the grand scheme of things. But brave is what I choose to see this life-path to be, and may my future acts of stupidity be few, and only serve teach me to bravely try again.

I choose to bravely, soul barefoot, begin this buslife journey. I'm writing this post in a rather emotional state; I was just approved for a loan to purchase a short bus. Budget is $5000. I have been looking at several that fall in and below that price tag, so that's my maximum but I'd prefer one that's $3,000 with some money to begin the inside build.

So what is the bold purpose motivating my decision to buy and convert an old bus to live and work on the road? It's a multi-faceted motivation, but at the heart of it are military veterans who have re-purposed their lives of service to become farmers. My goal with the bus is to travel the U.S. to these farms to offer my support as a writer: to tell their stories and assist them as a content writer and social media manager, as a skilled horticulturist: consulting and holding workshops on their farms, and lastly as a supportive friend: to farm-sit so they can take vacations and be assured their farm is in capable, caring hands.

This first winter and following garden season I plan to be in full build mode, with a target completion of Summer 2020 to take my first trip to the Northeast where most of my Veteran Farmer friends are located. As I network and bring my services to different regions, I hope to expand my content writing, farm-sitting and workshops to new areas of the country. I will spend a considerable amount of time in Western New York, as I will still run my gardening service, and hopefully my new position as an instructor for the horticulture program will be a long-term endeavor.

This is a huge undertaking, but I have given it years of thought, planning, and careful consideration. It is all of my re-purposing dreams for myself wrapped into one, and put on four wheels. Bus life is flexible, adaptable to change, dynamic. Traits I strive to perfect in myself every day. I am so excited for this plan to begin, and my heart is overflowing with gratitude and love for those of you that support and believe in me. Here's to buslife!

Yurt Dreams

I’m taking my Sunday morning coffee and solitary time atop the hillside in a hammock tucked against the woods at my friend Justin’s Yurt campground outside of Ellicottville, New York, and while I sip, I’m smiling inside and out. This morning, all I can hear are the birds, and oddly unintrustive distant traffic of the 219 through the trees. Sunlight streams through branches and as I lie here in ambient sound, echoes of the two nights preceding surround me.

Laughter, ridiculous shenangains, nonsensical conversations, games, splattered with more serious moments of connection and friendship drift through my mind and I smile wider in spectator-like pride in my friend’s dream in action. Justin built this place for such echoes- for a drawing together of people in any way they choose- in his motto, Come as strangers, leave as friends. I remember when he first laid the plans out for me- I met him just after the first yurt went up and he was opening the campground for its first season of guests. He had accomplished so much already- a complete transformation of a wild thirteen acres into trails and pockets of groomed areas for gathering. But as he walked me up the trail to this spot I sit in now, excitedly writing notes as I identified plants and trees along the way, he laid out the five year, the ten year- the life plan of Ellicottville Yurts and Recreation. It would be his home- with a yurt campground village for year round camping and gathering- and he could then live 24/7 among the love he brought together under the yurts.

It was a model of camping he brought back with him from his days of working on parks and preserves in the West- where camping was a community activity- everyone came together around one fire- perhaps they came as strangers, but that’s not how they’d leave. His desire to bring communal camping to Western New York is now realized one crazy weekend at a time thoughtout the summer right off the 219 entering Ellicottville. The corral-like EVL YURTS gates have opened to so many experiences for visitors to his Yurts- and we all share the love we feel- even if just for a night- it glows on in echoes thought each new group that enters the property.

Justin is one of the firm supporters of my crazy dreams- and I can’t exactky remember what version I was on when we met, but he backed me full tilt, and still does. He was so excited to hear about the Van Plan, with thoughts and advice on how I could best accomplish it- and for that I am truly grateful. To have kindred dream spirits is such a blessing for those of us determined to be outliers in this world. We share in the realization that we both have a mission- whether given or self-imposed- to bring people together and give space for their crazy lives to collide, mingle, and multiply. Laying here in his hammock I tear up knowing that someday a fierce supporter of mine will sit on the bumper of my van and feel this same overwhelming pride in a friend’s mission taking its course.
While Justin has built a sanctuary to bring people to one place of laughter and community, I will set out to bring that sanctuary with me on the road, and enter homes of Loves throughout this country to join with me in laughter, love, purpose, and healing. I am home here, in Justin’s Yurtopia, and I am ready to bring that home with me with my whole heart to each place on my journey ahead.
Cheers to you Justin, and to many more nights of crazy love around your fire.

The Brave Hello

As I pick weeds, my brain picks through thoughts and ponderings. Working solo lends itself to times of great reflection and thought. There’s a twofold reason for loving my work: uncovering a gardener’s treasures that have been neglected over time, and sorting through a slough of thoughts that can be given hours of dedicated sifting as my hands methodically work through the earth.

 I have often dwelt on negative thoughts or judgements in my life, but as of late, all these grey thoughts have found no room amidst the crowd of positively wonderful thoughts, happenings, and people in my life. And I’m busy- oh, so busy- but this kind of total occupation is completely driven by my own dreams, desires, and goals. No clutter of have-to’s or should be’s for the sake of appearances or social graces. Why, you ask? Well quite simply, the ones in my life that I’ve left room for all belong to my dreams and goals as well. I literally don’t have time for anyone not attached to my upward life climb. If that sounds selfish to you,  I can assure you it is. I am completely immersed in my own self-centered endeavors- and I make no apologies for said lifestyle; I don’t need to.

 My circle has tightened around the loyal champions of my success, and I theirs, so there is no room for nay sayers or those who don’t share a similar vision. I am blessed. But it was by opening and closing doors and that I am here. The courage to open them to look for new ways to success, and to close them on people and paths not beneficial for me. 

Seriously, there are so many loving, positive people ready to love and support you in this thing called life.  How do you find them? Well, for me it’s a been a series of brave hellos. I talk to everyone- and I make a point to give the hello extra time if the other person wishes to take it further. Often, a person who is genuinely engaged in conversation will respond with further talk. People long to share their stories, and I long to listen, if for no other reason than to hear a stranger’s journey. Sometimes my hellos turn into hours, sometimes, just a brief exchange of smiles that touch both faces- and in my experience, give a glow to the day just for the exchanging. It’s a rewarding habit to have an open demeanor; as I’ve mentioned here before, a smile given freely cracks so many closed faces. It’s really that simple.  Keep saying hello to everyone you meet. You will say hello to the wrong people along the way- that’s what goodbye is for, and then you just press on greeting every being that crosses your path. Want to be really brave? Believe me- it’s worth it- cross paths with those not directly in your path. Jump into someone’s day with a smile and you will be amazed at the souls you meet. I don’t speak from any book but my own. I can look back to the dark days where I stayed cloaked in my own negativity wondering if anyone would even know if I slipped away into darkness forever. I also remember taking a chance smiling at a stranger alone against a wall who is now my dearest friend. Crack open and pour out, it will come back to you a hundred fold. Those silly sayings that tell you to surround yourself with good energy people? They’re true. And those people multiply as you uncover their locations. Some shine privately only for you and you both have a beautiful, personal energy you share. Others are like-beacons that shine you onto more similar lit up faces. I believe this because I live this. There will be false lights and false friends and at times you’ll be sucked in and have to pull yourself away- remember the anchors of those who have been there always- they’ll always pull you back and never judge you for reaching for whoever. They understand your light grows the more people you touch. They know they will always be home to you no matter how far you roam. 

Writing the Why

What is the why? I can examine the why of many things in my life, and truth be told it’s an excercise I am in need of, but today I am examining why I write. There are many things we do as hobbies and habits that come and go as they are useful, but writing is one thing I can say has always been my constant in what some might call an ever-changing life.

When I was young, writing gave pause to hot, angry tears. I turn to my pen in times of great sorrow, confusion, or distress, yet also when I am joyful and full of life and purpose. Poetry pours out at high and low points.  In person, I am rarely one that’s considered lost for words, although as I grow older I am trying to learn the habit of tongue biting over wagging. It is one of my chief struggles and I regret having only a size 6 foot to utilize as a stopper.

 So why write?

My words are more beautiful and succinct on paper.

In my writing, there is an end goal, a sentence that completes a thought. My writing is both a release and a bridle for my tongue.

 On paper, I can create semblance for my flailing thoughts: a beginning, a middle, an end. As I write I edit in silence, crossing out and scribbling over words that had my mouth given them voice could never be unspoken. My pen is my self-pacing breath for my thoughts. If allowed to escape in voice form they would appear as what they are: Wild, unstable jumble with no clear direction.

My written words are my metered-out insides, checked and balanced standing exposed on  paper. Can my thoughts pass the test of my eyes and a once again filtering through my quieted mind?
Once penned are they all  still necessary to give voice to this waterfall held inside? This is why I write- it is a discipline for my younger, and an outlet for my mind. May my written words be of more use and value than a thousand unchecked spoken words.

Written, re-written, and written again,
Create some sort of structure
From wild thoughts to words with pen;
I write and I write-
No one needs to hear all,
These pages a safety net
To break my thoughts’ fall.

Rise'n'Swine Farm

Have you ever considered a day in the life of the animals that are raised to provide for our nourishment? This might not be a question that crosses your mind as a consumer, but for Greg Putney of Rise N Swine Farms and Matt Dunning, his one-man-crew, it is the focal point in their endeavors to raise local, quality meat for their families and community. Their farm formula: “Give an animal the best life possible, with only one bad day” gives insight into a farm run with compassion and the understanding that animals raised for human consumption deserve humane, enjoyable lives during their time on this earth.

Greg began this journey by raising ten pigs in 2009 with the goal of providing his family and friends quality, humanely raised meat. As the pork cuts vanished into satisfied bellies, the number of pigs in Greg’s care increased, and he made the decision to lease a 106-acre parcel that would transform a pig-raising hobby into a life of farming. Today, over one hundred heritage breed pigs rotationally roam the hilly woods and pastures of the Holland, New York farm. In 2017, Scottish Highland cows were added to the farm family, along with one hundred laying hens.

The Farm. Photo Courtesy of Black Spruce Photography

Greg and Matt met in 2010 and after establishing a fast friendship, Greg, as many resourceful farmers do, asked Matt if he could help load a few pigs on a trailer. The rest of Matt’s integration into the story is history and Matt now lives close by and assists with sales, marketing, scheduling, and any other task where Greg needs a second set of hands. The two also work together as full-time linemen for National Grid, balancing a 40-plus hour workweek with the needs of the farm. Greg’s two young daughters pitch in as well, as their fascination with farm life increases.

Anna the beekeeper! Photo: Matt Dunning

Greg’s primary goal is to provide a safe, enjoyable asset to his family- not just in monetary value, but also in their quality of life. The farm is where his daughters run free and discover life, and he wants all aspects of the farm to be open and inviting to their endless exploration. His oldest, Anna, has become quite the beekeeper, providing the farm another source of income with honey sales. A second goal, no less important the first- is finding animals that fit the land, with little to no adaptation, so the animals would naturally feel at home on its geography. These two goals played a vital role in choosing heritage breeds that are known for their docile nature, their independence in birthing and general survival, resilience in cold temperatures, and are adapted to the natural habitat of the wooded and hilly terrain of the farm.

 Photo courtesy of Black Spruce Photography

The cows were purchased in 2017 as an investment to pay for the lease of the farmland, but how they fit into a cycle with the other animals and land use is just what you would expect from a farmer that seeks to employ an animal’s natural instincts to benefit the farm. The pigs and cows themselves are the main workers when it comes to clearing the brushy acres for pasture. Highlands are among the few breeds of cattle that will eat brush; most cattle eat only soft grasses. The pigs are also natural foragers, and three heritage breeds were selected for their shorter snouts as well as for other important traits. This insures that their rooting of the ground is relatively shallow and less disruptive to the soil structure while still thoroughly turning the soil and eating plant roots. There has been no mechanical turning of the soil on the farm; and cover crops are spread by hand and as well as by the pigs turning the soil.

Timing is everything on the farm- when to bring the next species on or off pasture is critical not only for prime forage, but also considering parasite life cycles, pest control benefits, and balancing the animals’ ability to get as much nutrition from the pasture without over grazing and creating unstable soil erosion conditions. The pigs are the first pasture tenants, spending seven to ten days on a given pasture. When temperatures permit, cover crops including winter wheat, barley, and sorghum are spread two days before the pigs are rotated out. This aids in spreading the seed as the pigs naturally nose through the pasture. Then the pasture is left to rest for 45 days, allowing the cover crop to germinate and establish, while giving time for any possible parasites they might have been carrying, time to die off. Then in come the cows.

Cover crop of barley

The last in the rotational lineup are the laying hens, who are brought on pasture three days after the cows leave. This takes into account the life cycle timing of fly eggs to larvae that have been laid on the cow pies. The chickens come through and receive a high protein diet in exchange for acting as a natural pest control by eating the larvae before they hatch.

This type of dovetail planning can be found on all aspects of the farm. Greg describes his method as management intense as opposed to machinery intense, taken primarily from Joel Salatin’s farming philosophy. In terms of machinery and structures, the farm has only one tractor and one barn. By choosing animal breeds that come from colder climates, there is less need for shelter and land adaptation. Greg notes that if hay was not placed in the barn, the cows would never even venture in, and can often be seen happily standing in the pasture with layers of snow on their backs. Each breed is carefully chosen based on two criterion: (1) does the farm closely resemble the animal’s habitat of origin and (2) does the breed possess a solid reputation for mild temperament?

The system is labor intensive at startup, with the most challenging jobs so far being fencing installation and providing the animals with access to fresh water. Many hours of planning, research, and laying out paddock configurations were necessary to develop a site specific system that would best support the animals without mechanized alterations to the land. However, once all the initial set-up was completed, the farm operates with a natural rhythm where everything has a place, time, and purpose.

Matt giving out cow treats. 

One thing that Greg is very proud of is that his market animals have never needed medicating, there has been no sickness among his animals. The farm is a very healthy, clean place where the animals thrive in a habitat that naturally fits their genetic impulses and needs. Farm tours are offered throughout the year to give the community the opportunity to see all aspects of farm life. This open communication with customers is important, Greg notes -they have nothing to hide and everything to gain from allowing the public to see and experience the farm for themselves.

Processing is done off the farm at a local USDA certified facility, and Greg sells his meat as whole-animal, half-animal, or, their latest and hottest offering, by the thirty-pound box. These boxes were an innovation that Greg began offering to customers that didn’t have the storage space for large quantities of meat, as well as new customers who wanted to try Rise ‘N Swine’s meat for the first time. One of the biggest challenges has been having meat on hand for new customers to purchase throughout the year.

Most of the meat processed is either pre-ordered or sells out quickly when meat availability is posted on their Facebook page. This presents a challenge when potential customers happen upon the farm between processing times. But this challenge is one that the farm welcomes, and Greg is confident he will find the perfect balance of manageable labor while supplying his ever growing customer base.

Looking ahead to the future, Rise N Swine is planning to open a farm store on the property, where customers can buy meat by the cut, as well as purchase farm produced honey and their pasture raised eggs. Greg and Matt are also exploring compost production, noting that this naturally produced by- product is an excellent soil amendment, and could prove to be another source of income for the farm.

Opportunities abound for a small farm, but Greg weighs each one against the long-term impacts to the land and the needs of the current farm residents, be they two- or four-legged. In farming, there are hard days, and there are easy days, but here in the hills of Holland, New York, you can rest assured that every day on the farm is the next best day in the life of everyone that calls Rise N Swine Farms home.

Solo Path

"Why these damn tears!?" I yelled through sobs, frustrated at the streams running down my face.
"You're a crier, always have been," she replied matter-of-factly.
 I laughed, because it was just that simple- and true. I was speaking with a mentor on my goals, stumbling blocks, and the revelations that come when you speak slowly, and a wiser person listens intentionally. She knows me well. Tears are a release- of whatever is locked inside. They  sometimes come when I have waited too long- as emotional bursts- rather than in the steady, cleansing breaths she later taught me to make a daily habit. I teared up thinking about writing this post. Tears ran down my face last night when I opened up to a new possible mentor (you can find them everywhere if you're open to growing) about my life path. Tears are nothing to be ashamed of, although I do regret the discomfort it causes others who don't understand them.They are something I have learned to love and accept about myself and my unique way of traversing this life. If I'm crying I'm feeling, and if I'm feeling I'm living. Don't worry, as a dear friend once noted, my tears turn to laughter and back again just as easy, that's just a fact of me.

I also love searching faces. It's a habit I've always had, and it comes in quite handy working in retail, but also in life. I love smiling first and cracking a worried or shy brow, and then watching a smile bloom on a stranger's face. It's an energy exchange, and can sometimes be just enough to affect a mood, an outlook, a day, even a life. Sometimes it's theirs, almost always, it's mine. My beliefs on energy are still evolving, but I have come to believe you attract the energy you emit. Kind of like the saying, only boring people get bored. Or perhaps, you generate an energy, and it can touch another and effect them, and mirror back to you. When I was an angrier, more confused person, I found every furrowed brow to be another angry, confused person. Now, as I look into a sea of faces, I see many thoughtful, searching faces looking back at me. I see hopeful smiles, dream filled eyes, lesson-lined faces.

 Yesterday, while searching faces in a coffee shop, I stumbled upon a person I knew of, but until then had no personal interactions with, and chose to ask him a question about my business. Or, to put it more honestly, I walked up to his table uninvited, introduced myself, sat down, and launched into a series of questions about a business issue that had been troubling me. Shy, I am not, and rarely have I been accused of beating about bushes for the sake of cautious uncertainty.  I had always thought him an intriguing person that I'd like to know, but never had a need or opportunity to speak to him, until yesterday. My one question spurred hours of conversation about my and his career paths, life stories, and provoking questions as to where I am headed now.

I can be a messy jumble to listen to when I first find an attentive ear, and he echoed what other wise people in my life have admonished- "Slow down and listen- quiet yourself and hear what's already being spoken inside. Stop searching so hard for answers and they will come, or are already there. Your motion is stationary spinning; be still, and you will move forward."

I have a plan this year, with pieces steadily falling in place as I set my mind to them. I'm going to write for small farms and veteran owned businesses involved in regenerative agriculture. In March I'm doing a resident apprenticeship on a friend's farm to learn heritage livestock breeding and an artistic trade- to be revealed later if I'm any good at it! I have plans and ideas to improve and grow my gardening service. At the end of this growing season, I'm trading my car in for a van to convert for living, working, and travel. They are all very ambitious goals, and ambition is something I have never lacked. But they are not easy goals, mostly because I will do them by myself for myself.

That was where the tears brimmed yesterday as I shared my realizations about my path. For so long, I had myself convinced I needed others to make my dreams possible. I wrote a partner into every long term plan, and I let my dreams crack when I severed relationships. For as I look back, I severed every tie I ever sought to make. Each time, I found that adding a person to my plan only caused energy to drain from, not add to it. Yet as an embodiment of Einstein's definition of insanity, I continued to make space for others in my dreams.

This year, I move forward knowing that my dream is made just for these hands to hold, and as it grows, I will grow with it and gain the strength to carry it to fruition. Will there be short term energy exchanges that fuel me when traveling through rough terrain? Without a doubt. Will I continue to look for faces in the sea of people to share a moment of reflected sunlight? How could I not?  Will my tears and breaths continue, understood or not, and carry me forward one well-placed step at a time? This I can assure you; and as I walk, though I be a solo traveler, I can assure myself- I am never alone.