We live a moderately crazy life. There is no way around it, living on a farm. For example: we have been roused from deep sleep at 4 a.m. to hear oinking in the driveway. Rather than take the extra few moments to find the correct layers of winter clothing, I charged downstairs and outside in a tee shirt, boxer shorts and barefeet in the snow to round-up the pigs. My ipod calendar is crammed with appointments for places to be, and lists of items that I need to arrange and set aside for both the kids, our family and our “larger family of customers”.
In fact yesterday, I was flying out of work a half hour later than I wanted to be, to get to my two year old’s birthday party, and received a phone call from a long-time farm product customer who asked if I was at home. I replied that I was not. After some back and forth, I decided to meet him at our farm, and take care of his food needs, and then proceed onto the birthday party. I, like my husband, really enjoy sharing our love and respect for and of animals with people. A well loved and cared for animal will end up producing a better product. And if you are going to consume the calories, why not make them count, and really, enjoy them? Why not feel good about the life and farming system that was used, feel confident that the farmer who looked you in the eye when s/he sold you the cut, and assured you that it was grassfed and pastured, that it really was? And who else will commiserate with you so intimately when you share your stories of your cooking success and failures, than with the farmer? That, friend, is farming and family.
So I got to the birthday party. It was fabulous. I had to leave a little early, and drive home, load up the cornish hens, and get them processed. It was a long day. My two year old was out like a light when I got home at ten o’clock.
But I still love farming.