April 13th, 2015

If you have never been the mama to a newborn baby-let me tell you that it is somewhat like the love for a sweet, new dog of your own.  There are moments with my sweet Janie when I can gently recall what if felt like to have a newborn in my arms.  A simple love that is hard to find anywhere else.

There are days when I must break away from the every day life on the farm and connect to things that feel inclusive.  Today has been one of those days.  It started with coffee with one of my friends who spends her days serving the most hungry in our community.  I’m thankful for the relationship I have with her and her willingness to let me ask important questions-no matter what they are.  While I’ve experienced hunger myself-it’s been awhile and it’s encouraging to connect to the needs of those in our community who are struggling right now, today.

Part of the conversations I’ve been having with women I respect has been how to connect the local food system to those who are not already engaged.  It appears that while concerns from the USDA, FDA, and other agencies are not reason to become preppers and hoarders we do need to be continuously looking at creating a local food system that is as inclusive as possible.  How difficult it is to work within cultural norms, systems, barriers-offering the upmost respect-but also ensuring that should breaks in the food system occur that everyone still has access to good food.  

I was encouraged once again when a good, black friend of mine allowed me to be completely open and honest with a few questions that I had about race.  There’s going to be an exciting opportunity coming to Bowling Green in a few months focused on racial inclusion-and I’m thankful to be part of the discussion.  During a conference call I was torn as others used “African-American” while I continued to use “black” to describe those in my community who should be involved in this conversation.  I reached out to my friend-asked her opinion-and she reassured me that most black people are comfortable being called black.  Whew, how complicated we’ve made life, but how thankful I am to have friends that allow me to be completely blunt about my doubts and ignorances.

I’m now back on the farm-taking care of kiddos, with a long list of chores that need to be done quickly.  We have chickens coming later this week and lots of work to catch up on before then.  I’m excited to make my favorite heirloom tomato, artichoke, chicken dish (although I’m not certain I really have a recipe for it) and folks on Facebook seem to be interested in it-I think I’ll take some photos and share the “process” of making the dish as it unfolds tomorrow.

One of the highlights of my day was coming home and opening the fridge to find a very scary plastic pig toy with a ploy kitten stuffed inside sitting on top of the bacon and next to the pimento cheese made by my friend Gabe at market.  Oh the joys of living in a house that is often full of pranksters.  Let’s not take life too seriously, friends.  The pig reminded me of a message I received from our good friend Jesse with a contact about some local pigs-I need to follow up on that since the pig pen is just about ready.  Just another day as a farmwife…