pig

     I butchered a pig yesterday all by myself.  That sentence needs to be torn apart.  First of all, I am never alone, never by myself.  God is always with me, in my heart, in the stars, streaming infinite, perfect Love to me.  Love and guidance.  I say by myself because of the many animals I have butchered, I was never the leader.  My farm partner was always the leader, I was the student helper.  There are many parts of a butcher that I have never tried, important parts.  I have sort of watched as the bung hole gets removed in a way that contains ALL the poo.  There is a way to remove it so that all the poo stays just where it should and the meat on the carcass stays clean.  That is important and I had never done it and I really did not want to learn how to do that because its a lot of responsibility.  I was content with him doing it since he was able and willing.  Also removing the bladder and penis and long tube that carries pee needs to be handled in a careful way.  There are bones to cut with a saw, the sternum and part of the pelvis.  There is an order to do things also that I had vaguely been aware of but never responsible for.

     So when I say that I butchered a pig all by myself what I mean is that by the time I went and humbly asked for help, that pig was mostly skinned, it was completely cut open and all the guts were out.  I had successfully (cleanly) removed the bladder and the bung hole.  One hard turd had escaped but that was all.  The piggy was clean.  Also I had taken most of the liver, leaving the bile duct and sac intact so no stinky bile was spilled.  I had a bucket full of organs to feed to the dogs.  The hind legs had hooks through them and it was up off the ground on a spreader.  I totally butchered the pig!!

And it feels so good because the whole time I was guided by God.  I opened myself to inspiration, I listened, and I followed.  That is such a wonderful feeling and I’m getting good at doing it throughout each of my days.  But this was different because it was sustained, three hours.  I checked in with God and then stayed totally connected for three hours, listening, worshiping, following, rejoicing with each tiny triumph.  Oh I feel invincible. 

That’s really what it was.  I made a conscious effort to notice what I was thinking about and always shift it back to God and appreciation.  It was impossible to think about the fact that miguel said he didn’t want me using the tractor.  So I heard him say that and just closed the door and went back out to the pig.  Inspiration came immediately.  God is so gentle sometimes.  I didn’t have time to begin a good “curse him” story because I was too excited to try the idea that had been lovingly placed on my heart.  We always use the tractor to move the animal to a good location, then lift it up by the hind legs which are spread apart.  This is a user friendly way to butcher an animal.  It allows the human with the knife to work in a comfortable body position, it employs gravity to help get the guts out.  The tractor is a lovely tool.  My vague plan was to use the tractor.  The key wasn’t in its normal place, which is the ignition.  It wasn’t in the little tool compartment behind the seat.  My heart raced as I walked to the house.  But already I could feel the calm, the knowing.  It was ok.

     Bottom line, that pig is dead and I want to eat it and share it with my family so I am going to cut it up, tractor or no tractor.  As I walked back down the lane without the tractor key I just knew it was going to be ok.

This farm is an absolute mess when it comes to equipment and tools are scattered everywhere, mixed up with discarded junk.   Its beautiful when it comes to nature and I love living here but that’s another story for a different day.  My point is that I look around, I see stuff, and I believe in God.  Its hard to see the tools sometimes because the mind gets all jumbled up with the disorganization of it all.  So I knew there was a spreader in the saw building right next to my pig.  

     Listening to my inspired heart that pig ended up with its rear end propped up on a tire, each leg with a hook hanging from the spreader and the whole thing hanging from a chain wrapped around a tree branch.  It wasn’t up very far but it worked and the exhilaration from getting it that high up was tremendous and kept me going strong.  

Back to that original sentence.  Butchering a pig implies that it is dead and I did not do that part myself. There are so many layers here and I want to tell my story without defending myself.  I do feel abused but I know that that is not real.  As I cling to God, no one can hurt me because truth is always available to me and Love is wrapped around me.  And I am a human and all the human communication gets real confusing so I’ll just try and see how this comes out.   I want to tell my story.

     After the pig butcher last year my farm partner said he didn’t want to kill the pigs next year.  He said if I decided to get pigs, then It would be up to me to get them killed.  This was a conversation he initiated.  The killing had not gone well and it was not the first time that it had not been smooth.  I did not bring this up to him.  I am at least humble enough to know better than to criticize how a pig is killed when I won’t learn to use a gun.  I wasn’t sure what to do about it.  So it felt like sweet relief when he brought up the topic and said he was not going to kill the pigs for the next season.  During that conversation I gently agreed that it had not gone well and miguel said that he had not sighted down the barrel of the gun.  I asked what is the advantage to not sighting down and he said that he was in a hurry.  That was all I remember from that particular exchange.  He offered his perspective and plan for the future and I agreed and it was decided, clear.  

     I was horrified.  I did not share any of this with my farm partner, its not relevant.  He is an adult with much gun and butchering experience.  My horror would not change any of his behavior.  How could someone not sight down the barrel?  The pig was not attacking him.  It was in a small, secure pen calmly, quite happily drinking milk from its pan.  Pigs hold completely still when they are alone and they’re drinking milk.  They get real focused on taking in as much milk as they can because they know that other piggy is going to come over and try to drink some too.   Again, I don’t use a gun but it seems pretty standard that if one is going to use such a powerful, useful tool, it should be used correctly and sighting down the barrel, taking aim, is the correct way to fire a gun.  Its the correct way to kill an animal.  Taking aim is the honorable way to take an animal that will feed you and your family.  I can’t even describe the horror I felt when the farm partner offered his perspective about why the killing had not gone well.  Again, this was information he offered freely,  not in response to anything, he initiated this conversation.

     So mostly I was glad and relieved that he said he was not going to kill the pigs.  The pigs are an integral part of this farm, their contribution is key to how we live our lives.  We like to make our own food and cheese and butter are a huge part of our diet.  We eat a pound of butter every week and it needs to be made between June and October.  That’s five full months of butter making, 16 pounds per month brings 80 pounds which gives us plenty to get through a year plus some to share.  Making butter in that volume produces large quantities of skim milk.  That’s where the pigs come in.  They store all that milk for us, easily, happily.  All they need is a simple shelter and a good fence and their milk.  The piggies are incredibly low maintenance relative to how much they offer the farm.  Because we have pigs, we get to make, eat, and share butter abundantly.  That’s the way I see it.  I love the pigs.  They are like huge cheeses.

     It was obvious to me that of course I would arrange for us to get pigs again in the spring and then I would find someone to kill them for us.  That seemed reasonable.  There are lots of people around here that use guns regularly for hunting or target practice and I felt confident that it would all work out well.  The next conversation that I remember about killing pigs occurred during sugar season when my friend Ian was visiting.  Ian talks a lot and it can be stressful to be around him.  Its really good practice for compassion and for not engaging, focusing on my own inner being for guidance.  He got miguel going somehow about hunting or killing and miguel started talking about the pigs and how hard it was to kill them.  Again, I totally support what he wants to do and I know that his experience is valid.  I’m not the one with the gun and I am just eternally grateful that someone kills them so that we can eat them.  There was a lot of back and forth between Ian and miguel and I don’t remember what all was said but I do remember seeing a reasonable opportunity to ask miguel about how he had decided to cut the pig’s leg off before it was dead.  I acknowledged that the killing had not gone well and that’s ok, it is what it is but the only reasonable thing to do, the only humane thing to do, is wait for the pig to die.  It was going to die, it was injured and bleeding and dying and it was only a matter of time.  Recently my girl friend asked me why I allowed that to happen.  I am sorry I have even shared this story with people but it weighs heavy on my heart and the person that did it never acknowledged my question about it and never acknowledged that it even happened so I feel a little bit crazy.  But I was there and I heard the animal scream.  

So she asked me about my role in the whole thing and I said that I didn’t think he would do that.  I was holding my 3 year old child at a safe distance away, waiting for the pig’s energy to leave it physical body.  I didn’t know that I should have made the knives unavailable until the pig was dead. 

      Writing this really messes with my head.  One reason I am writing about this is to explain how I decided to handle the pig butcher this year.  I hope that my farm partner can gain some understanding of why I asked a friend for help.  And I want that friend to understand why my farm partner didn’t know what we were doing.

     The next conversation I had with the farm partner about the pigs was about a month ago.  I told him that I remember him saying that he was not going to kill the pigs and so that when I had gotten the pigs back in the spring I had intended to get a friend  to kill them.  I told him that I had spoken to my friend Randy and he had agreed to do it.  My farm partner replied that he didn’t mind killing the pigs but that I should do what ever I wanted to do.  I asked him if he would still participate in the butcher if someone else killed the pig and he said sure.  It was disturbing and confusing that he was now saying that he didn’t mind killing the pigs.  I have learned over the years to not ask about this kind of thing because it will get more confusing and I will be accused of misunderstanding something that was discussed clearly.  So I just ignored his comment and went ahead with the plan.  I just wanted the pigs to die well and also to relieve farm partner of the obvious stress it causes him to kill the pigs.  Looking back over the years I can see that every year it has been hard for him meaning its been riddled with anxiety and there has been no honor or gratitude in it.  And I totally understand his discomfort, I won’t even learn to use a gun and do it myself so I think its totally reasonable for him to not want to do it.  I wanted to support him in that.  I also know that there are lots of people that use guns regularly and enjoy it and can create a sacred space around releasing, or dispatching the animal.  So let someone else do it, we don’t have to do every single thing ourselves.     

     The next conversation happened about a week later and miguel said he was not going to coordinate with someone else to kill the pig so he could butcher it.  He said he would kill the pig himself and that I was just upset because it hadn’t gone the way I wanted it to go. 

 I said ok.  I asked him to speak to Randy to cancel the request and he ignored this.

So I just planned to hide the knives until the pig was dead.  I thought maybe it would go better this year.  But regardless of how the killing went, I knew I could ensure that the butchering begin after the animal was dead.  So ok.  Again I am just so grateful that someone will kill the pig.  I can’t do it.  I can’t cut their throat like a cow.  I don’t have the skills necessary to kill a pig and I don’t want to learn how to use a gun.  There are many things that I have learned how to do and I’m good at them.  There are lots of people that are comfortable with guns and I don’t need to learn how to use one.  So when miguel said he was going to kill the pig I thought well fine then, I just want someone to do it.  I would prefer that it be done well, with honor and confidence, not hurry and anxiety, but hey, this is his home and since he now says he wants to kill the pig then I respect that.   

     So we looked at the weather and came up with two days that might be good butcher days.  As the week went on we decide that Friday would be the best day so we had a plan.  And I was glad because the pigs need to die this time of year.  Its cold and they start to use up the good stuff keeping themselves warm.  There is no reason for a pig to be alive on this farm this time of year.  We only take one at a time so getting the first one done is a big step.  Its still cold and there is still a 2nd pig out there.  I was very relieved and eager for the pig to be changed into meat for this family.  

     Friday came and farm partner was not speaking to me.  I heard him tell the 4 year old child that we were not butchering today.  I asked him what his plan was for the pig and he said he wanted to do it by himself, that he would not discuss it with me.  He said he did not want to do it today and it was not my concern because he wanted to do it without me.  I said ok and told him that I would not be feeding the pigs anymore since only he knew when they would die then he would know if they needed to eat or not.  

     I knew that today was the best day to kill the pig as far as weather and I just knew.  I called some people and left messages and I felt inspired to drive down to my neighbor’s and talk to him about it.  On the way to my neighbor’s I saw that our friends were at the other property hunting so I stopped and spoke to them.   I simply explained that I needed someone to kill my pig and I would butcher it.  They know miguel and I figured they wondered why he wasn’t doing it and so I offered part of what I knew to be true.  I told them that last year he had said he didn’t want to kill the pigs and that If I got pigs I would have to find someone else to kill them.  S.T. offered right away, no problem.  He had a 3 something rife with him, it was his father’s rifle from the war.  He knew that would do it cleanly, easily.  It’s a beautiful gun.  

      We agreed that S.T. and the other hunters would come back to my house in a few hours.  I went home and just went on about the day as usual.  I didn’t tell farm partner what my plan was.  I imagined that S.T. would come over and we could just walk down to the pig pen and shoot the pig and that miguel would figure it out and decide what he wanted to do from there.  I really just wanted the pig dead.  I did not know what I was going to do after it was dead.  I figured I would just start up the tractor and do the best I could until miguel showed up.  I figured he would come down and help once things got started.  Here comes another layer of the whole long story.  A week before all this happened miguel butchered a 1 1/2 year old bull in the yard on a Saturday.  I had known that a guy was coming to buy a bull and last year this guy loaded a bull up and hauled it somewhere to have it butchered.  So when I found out this same guy was coming for a bull I just assumed he’d load it up and take it away and miguel never said anything different.  Well Saturday morning rolls around and I knew the guy was coming and I asked miguel some questions and finally he said that he, miguel, was going to butcher the animal in the yard.  I was really surprised.  That seemed like information that would be relevant to share with a farm partner.  Butchering is a pretty big deal and we always do it together.  They planned to take one of the 4 month old bull calves that was tied on the yard but the two of them didn’t communicate well and turns out the guy wanted a bigger bull.  

     One hour after I learned of his intention to butcher a bull, farm partner asks me to help with the whole process, meaning, he can’t even catch the bull without my help.  Sure, yes, I am happy to do it.  I love herding animals and I’ve gotten really good lately at getting hold of their nose ring once they’re in a confined area.  Bring it on, I love being a farmer!  We got the bull across the road and I walked him through the pasture and around to the milk house.  I was pretty mad that I hadn’t been told about this but I chose to enjoy my walk and especially enjoy that this guy had brought his wife and 3 grandchildren so my child would have kids to play with  and someone to watch them.  We got the bull in the hoop barn and I got hold of his ring.  So much fun.  miguel continued to fire questions at me as he had been doing all morning and I just handed him the rope and walked away.  This was his deal.  He had made a plan with this guy.  I caught the bull for you now you two figure out the rest.  And the guy was obnoxious.  He was kind but filed with anxiety and saying 100 times “he’s not gonna go, he knows what we’re doing”.  All these negative comments constantly flowing out of his mouth.  Not helpful.

 I was up in the house checking on my child and these people I had never met before.  I looked out the window and saw farm partner beginning the butcher process.  Oh wow.  I was tired.  We had run all over catching that bull.  I knew that if I was tired he was probably tired.  And it was a big animal.  No hesitation.  Out the door I went with a knife and a sharpener.  I love to butcher and there was no way I was just going to sit in the house and watch.  Things on the farm go like this sometimes.  Bottom line, there’s a dead animal in the yard and it needs to be cut up.  I know how to do that because farm partner has showed me how.  He has allowed me to participate in countless butchers, he has been the leader in every one.  I love doing it, I love knowing how to harvest my own meat and I owe respect to farm partner.  We don’t communicate well and exactly 50% of that is on me so who cares if he didn’t tell me his intention?  I’m not going to stand back and watch him do that alone.  I went out there happily, participated joyfully, and I got the tail hide off by myself and I celebrated that because I’d never done that specific part before.  It was fun, we had a good time.  

     So I was sort of hoping that when the pig was dead, farm partner would come out and help.

I was wrong.

and that’s ok.  He gave me the opportunity to do it all by myself, even cooler than he does it because I didn’t have access to the tractor and I still got it done.  Farm partner gave me the opportunity to connect with and rely on God instead of him.  Which is what I should be doing and its what I want to do.  so I am grateful.

     Another reason I am writing this is to thank S.T. for his help.  He can’t understand how grateful I am to him unless he understands how wrong things have been in the past.  I want him to know that he participated in something that was not communicated to his friend miguel and that was my doing and I want S. T. to know why I did what I did.  I didn’t want to disrespect him by not telling him the whole story but I also really wanted my pig to die and so I told him part of the story and took the risk of putting him in a bad spot with miguel.  I’m sorry S.T. if I acted wrong.  You have always been such an honest, clear communicator.  I appreciate your integrity more than I can say.  

     S.T. killed the pig well.  He intentionally set the whole scene.  He was calm and told me that he feels dispatching an animal is a solemn thing and we made a clear plan.  He asked me if after I got the pigs in position with their separate milk pans would I come back to him.  I was used to just running out of the pen as fast as I could because I knew miguel was going to  shoot the pig fast and I am scared of guns and he never once asked me where I wanted to be when the gun went off.  I told S. T. that sure, thank you, I would come back near him and mostly I just wanted him to do what ever he was comfortable with.  He was the one killing the pig and he needed to be comfortable.  He said of course in a way that indicated he always does what he’s comfortable with.  I was just shocked to have someone ask me what I wanted.  

Anyway, he set the scene, he looked at all the humans present to make sure we were ok, he took his time, he got down real close and he fired the gun.  Beautiful.  The animal fell immediately .  Perfect.  

     Everyone stood quietly as the blood and the life force left the pig and it was done.  S.T. had created a space of honor and respect around the whole situation and I felt proud to be a part of the whole thing.   Then they left.

I felt empowered, encouraged, humbled.

Then I walked over to the tractor and found that the key was gone.

     This whole issue of killing the animal well, killing the animal with honor, humbly and skillfully releasing it from physical form, this is a deep issue for me.  I have sort of believed that part of my identity is someone who doesn’t buy food at the store, we make all our own food, we butcher our own animals.  This is the first time I’ve faced head on that I am totally dependent on someone who kills the animals in at atmosphere of anxiety, hurry, fear.  Sometimes they die immediately, fall, its perfect.  And other times, enough times that it is relevant, they die slowly, poorly, without honor or dignity.  and then we eat them.  

     One of my favorite scenes from a movie that describes part of how I feel is in Avatar.  Blue woman teaches the new blue one how to kill and animal for meat, how to hunt.  They say words of respect and gratitude, they have their hearts right and they receive the gift.  I don’t hunt and I don’t use a gun.  But I killed two cows two weeks ago.  I killed a sheep well in 2012 and a possum two years ago.  I can kill animals and I do it well.  I am prepared to kill the bull this year.  I would be honored to get him tied up properly so everyone is safe and cut his throat.  But I don’t communicate well with my farm partner and I’m not sure what to do.  Its not like I moved here and demanded that he kill animals.  I never told him to use a gun and shoot our food.  He did it.  He offered to do it.  He bought pigs with the intention of shooting them himself with a gun.  

I have stood by and watched each time.  Sometimes it went well and other times it was an outright horror show.  And then I participated in the butcher and ate the animal. 

and I never criticized how it went because I didn’t know.  I don’t use a gun and so I thought maybe that’s how it is sometimes.  But what I’m realizing is that it was convenient for me to just stand by and let him kill well or kill poorly.  I want the meat and it serves me to allow the killing to happen in what ever fashion it does.  and i feel sick about it.  I want to live this way, I want to harvest my own meat and I won’t learn to use a gun and I participate with my farm partner who is so uncomfortable killing animals that sometimes it doesn’t go well.  

   I don’t know what to do about it.  

I think what I did this year was really good.  I asked a good friend who I trusted to kill the pig.  It went beautifully and now I know that every kill can be like that.  

This past January I was cooking bacon at a friend’s house.  There were a bunch of people there and I heard someone walk through the kitchen saying “I can’t stand the smell of meat cooking.  Its like I can feel the animal’s fear.”  I’ve never told anyone this before.  My first response, (in my head, thank God I kept my big mouth shut) was all righteous indignation that hey, we keep our animals well and they are loved and respected and we are in relationship with our animals and you’re imagining something you vegetarian.

oh really?

I am reduced to a humble quivering mess as I look back and see that the bacon I was cooking was from a pig that was not killed well.  I believe 100% that that woman smelled the animal’s fear.  I have been participating in something that I don’t agree with, in something that I know should be done better. 

new moon

the child and I have been homeschooling, exploring the wonders of our world, for 3 weeks now.  This was a song inspired by the moon phases.

Charlotte released * * content warning * * (animal killed)

     I released Charlotte from her physical body yesterday.  Living in relationship with animals is complex.  There are so many variables to consider.  She may have lived through the winter.  Now comes the definition of living.  Her physical body may have stayed upright, hay going in and poo coming out.  But Charlotte is a milk cow and really living for her means getting fat, being pregnant, and growing a healthy calf to nurse after it’s born.  None of those milk cow activities were possible for her anymore.  She was damaged, wounded, less than.  And so brave, she still mooed for her 4 month old calf and she had a good appetite.  But she was limping and the wound was stinky and I believe she was uncomfortable.  She was not living her best milk cow self so she had to go.  Allowing her to continue on means less hay for the cows that are thriving.  It means all that fuel and time bouncing around on the tractor was for a creature that is not able to give back her milk cow share.  Charlotte couldn’t carry her end of a milk cow relationship but she can still contribute to the farm.  That’s where the decision lies.  Her physical body is immensely valuable to the farm as compost that will support gardens and trees just a few short years from now.  Her spirit will remain here on the farm, celebrating and encouraging the beauty that thrives here.  Maybe she will return as a new calf someday.  

     Cutting Charlotte’s throat did not destroy her.  It was what started her next phase of form, just like when she was conceived from stardust in her mother’s womb, and again when she took her first breath of air.  Physical beings are continuously transforming from spirit into physical, and back again.  Charlotte used to drink milk from her mama’s udder, then she stopped drinking milk and ate grass.  Now she will become the soil that feeds the grass.  

     So it was a big deal for me to release Charlotte with my own hand.  The decision that it needed to be done was relatively easy, especially with winter coming on, the wound, and her limping.  To keep the balance on the farm, she had to be released.  Then I had to come up with an actual step by step plan.  Where was she going to be, what knife was to be used, exactly where do I cut her?  I was so scared.  It felt like a huge responsibility to release an 800 lb animal from  her body.  Not something I could do half way and then call for back up.  It needed to be done, done right.   There is an element of danger too, when killing something that big.  I was pretty scared.  

     The whole process went really well, Praise the Lord.  I called upon my God and held big, strong faith out in front of me.  I chose to know that to keep the balance, it was the right thing to do, and that Charlotte wanted to go.  I let myself be Lovingly guided by the Universe that is bigger than me and that I willingly participate in.  She came up to the milk house easy and I got a halter on her no problem.  She was really calm.  Because my decision was clear and solid, I knew that Charlotte already understood what was happening.  We had agreed and we were doing it together.  I mean she’s 800 lbs with horns, if she didn’t want to walk across the yard to the red barn, she certainly would not do it.  But she did.  Little me hanging on to a skinny rope, led her into the barn and tied her up, just as sweet as anything.  

     Charlotte stood in the barn while I finished my morning chores.  Then I put on some yuck clothes, sharpened the knives, and went out to be with her.  She was very calm.  She let me secure her head uncomfortably tight and close to the wall with a halter and a rope around her horns.  I was constantly thanking God that she was so calm.  I know for sure that Charlotte has never been tied up to the wall in the red barn.  This was all new and strange and she participated in her gentle cow way.  Then I felt her neck and tried to figure out exactly where the knife would go in and then what direction it would travel.  It was very important to me that I cut the big vessels and the air all at once, quickly and cleanly.  I owed that much to Charlotte, to honor her by doing this exactly right.  Part of me screams that someone qualified should be doing this important work.  Another part of me agrees.  Then I look around and realize, as I have so many times living on a wild farm, I am qualified.  I am the one to keep the balance.  God put me here and I love it and I am qualified because I know how to listen, I know how to be led.  That’s how I had a baby in the front bedroom of this house.  I listened.  I was led.  

     Feeling Charlotte’s neck made it clear.  I stood back and connected to spirit and then cut her.  The knife in my hand released her.  It was quick and clean, one cut, first time, done.  Well done.   

    I will always feel appreciation for Charlotte.  I needed to do this.  

bee sting

      As we become closer to nature, wisdom will flow and life will become easier.  There may be no need for emergencies.  We will live in and truly inhabit a place on earth.  All the creatures and unseen forces will become as extensions of our own physical bodies.  Our humanness will melt into the natural world and we will become part of that thriving ocean, flowing as a wave in perfect place with all the other waves.  

Imagine:  humans in a garden, gathering fruits, receiving an abundant harvest from mother earth.  One human notices some beings communicating.  BBZZzzzzzzz… Their home has been stepped on, made part of a foot path.  Maybe someone hears the buzzing with real ears or sees the bright yellow with real eyes.  Another one could feel the message clearly, look up from her work and tell others, choose a different path.  Our friends request that their home remain undisturbed.  We all greet the beings and appreciate sharing this beautiful place, our home.  A new path is flattened from the large, ripe pumpkins to the waiting wagon.  The day is sunny and bright.  

How we are still learning to live connected to mother earth:  a human walks along a path, intent on the harvest.  Hand feels sudden, intense pain while heart senses aggression in the sting.  Human expresses offense, takes personal offense at being stung “for nothing”, all while feet continue forward over the path.  Another human immediately knows and offers that those creatures live in the ground, suggesting an acceptable explanation for the painful hand.  And then failure.  She becomes focused on silently criticizing the offended one, and a small human walks along the path.  

There is no reason to explain anything now.  Just hold the crying child, return to the house with square walls.  Comfort and reassure while the pain is endured.  I can see how people feel confident when they are good at responding to human emergencies.  It requires focus and can bring calm because the responder is now connected to universal knowledge and simply receiving instructions.  What I strive for now is to live in a peaceful way with nature.  To receive instructions from the earth and from all the creatures.  The moment it was known that our path crossed the bees home the child could have been brought in to that new understanding.  Time spent observing buzzing concentrated above their home.  Celebrating our new relationship, grateful for their warning.  Appreciation to the one who “took one for the team”, helping us see, take a different path.   

When we spend time in the garden we are entering an ecosystem that can demand careful attention.  As my mind quiets with its own sad habits it will learn to listen to and enjoy the chorus of love and celebration that surrounds.  The child is fine.  He handled it well.  But what if we lived in a way that honored all creatures?  We will slowly continue to see ourselves here as equal to all creatures.  Not even equal because that may suggest separateness.  I want to live in the flow and just be basking in the gorgeous creation all the time.  Bee sting was a dynamic lesson and I feel much appreciation for this clarity.  

Butter happens

     Butter happened on Tuesday.  It is a different process than making a pie.  Seems like a human makes a pie but butter just happens.  Its a mechanical process, stirring really fast, and then bam!  Butter appears where there used to be cream.
     Last year we were blessed with about 12 pounds of butter happening every 10 days from May until October.  This year butter started happening in June, once a week, to give us around 4 pounds each time.   This farm life continues to change and evolve with each season and that really appeals to me.  I enjoy the challenge of observing, planning, and then adjusting my activities so everything flows.  It requires creativity and attention and that stirs my soul, makes me feel human.
     So butter happens.   We are receiving around 4 gallons of milk each morning from our cows, God bless them.  One gallon comes in the house each day for "house milk".   The other 3 gallons stays in the milk-house refrigerator for two days.  During those 48 hours the cream part rises and settles on top.  I use a huge ladle to skim off this lovely, thick cream and store it for up to a week in the fridge.
At the end of 7 days I dip my finger into the oldest can of cream and taste.  It is usually a bit, oh, how to describe the flavor?  Funky cheese, yes mild funkiness, in a good way.  The fresh cream is incredibly sweet so its easy to taste the difference.  The next oldest can of cream is mostly sweet with just a hint of "I'm six days old, not so fresh".  The total gallons of cream and their diverse flavors will make a real nice batch of butter.
     Now down to the  basement to set up the super-cool Cadillac of butter churns that we are so blessed to have.  The butter churn that was here when I arrived 8 years ago was a beast, difficult to use, and physically dangerous.  It made good butter but I started complaining immediately.  My partner had been fantasizing about a churn he had seen a few years before so the abundance of the farm paid over $1,000 for the new churn.  And its wonderful.  So easy to clean, easy to handle.  Its still dangerous but it takes a much more idiotic move to be hurt by this one.
   When the churn is all set up I dump in gallons of cream, (up to 7), turn it on, and just wait.  The cream is violently whipped by a large paddle inside the churn.  It hums and vibrates and I love to hear the noises change as the texture and consistency of the cream changes.  At some point when I stop the motor and lift off the lid, there are tiny bits of butter floating in butter milk.  Done.  How does that happen?  I put cream in, washed a few cans while listening to the churn, then there's butter.  It has taken me a few years to learn the art of when to stop the churn but that's about all the skill it takes.
     Now the rinsing of the butter.  Butter likes to be rinsed.  First the buttermilk is drained off from the cool spigot on the bottom.  At least one quart of this must be drank immediately by anyone present.  The rest feeds the happy pigs.  Then the churn is filled up with cold water, mixed with the paddle just for 2 seconds and then allowed to rest as the butter chunks float to the top.  Open the spigot to drain off the water, fill up again with cold water for the final rinse.  The rinse water drains clear and now its time to squeeze the butter.  Butter likes to be squeezed.  I used to put the butter in a milk pail and squeeze the water out with the back of a wooden spoon.  Using my hands is much more fun.  Reach into the churn and scoop out a large snowball-sized lump and start squeezing.  Its a fantastic arm and shoulder workout.  Each lump can be squeezed about twenty times then formed into a nice ball.
     That's how butter happens here on the farm where I live.  No,  I do not know what buttermilk is except that its the yummy white liquid that floats the butter pieces.  I do not know how butter happens.  I guess all the fat pieces stick together when they get whipped around well enough.  I do know that I love to eat butter and it is a wonderful way to store the milk.  The skimmed milk turns into bacon, thanks to the pigs.  The abundance from the cows continues to boggle my mind and fill my heart with joy.  I do not know how to make a pie but I do know how to let butter happen and for now I am satisfied.

old trees

I live in a wild life sanctuary, a little piece of earth that is yours as much as it is mine. I steward this wild wonderful place.

look us up on google maps 5660 & 6111 Austin Rd. Camden, MI

Opportunity for anyone interested in immediately and directly supporting the health of Lake Erie:

The St Joseph River in Michigan is part of the Lake Erie watershed. Currently this river carries significant run-off from conventionally farmed land here in South Eastern Michigan. The water carries chemicals that directly contribute to the poor health of Lake Erie.

The East fork of the West branch of the St Joseph river travels through 380 acres of land that I have been co-stewarding since 2011. This land is an informal wildlife sanctuary established in 1979.
These 380 acres naturally and sustainably filter and purify water in the river, thus directly contributing to the health of Lake Erie. The current owners of 180 acres of sanctuary land intend to sell it to local conventional farms.
This letter presents the opportunity for the land to be purchased and then allowed to continue as a sanctuary.

A simple way to directly support the health of Lake Erie is to preserve watershed land that cleans the water. The current owners desire money. There are people out there with an abundance of money. The impact on the Lake’s health is cumulative because the longer this large piece of land is allowed to remain wild, the more efficient it becomes at cleaning water that flows into Lake Erie.

library love

I hit on someone yesterday at the library, homeschool-mom style.  It worked.  She took my digits and smiled.
     I was at the library basking in the loveliness of the experience when a woman walked in with 4 children.  Suddenly my kid wanted to leave and I became determined to find a movie.  I wanted to wait long enough for shyness to pass and see if there was any connection between teo and these new humans.  Frequently in this situation there is not and so we just go on about our day.  With his third request to leave lovingly refused the reward came as joyful noises from the toy dinosaur area of our sweet little library.  Contact!  I casually observed the children and then shifted focus to the mother.
     She seemed like someone I could talk to and my habits of thought quickly attacked the idea.  Then from somewhere warm and loving, a new thought came.  Just try it honey.  This is a beautiful, sincere desire and the risk is much less than the potential benefit.  It was nice to focus on the possible outcome rather than the unlikely event of total failure and embarrassment.  So I melted into the new thought and lurked by the sale books, waiting for the right moment.
     Finding home school families out here in the boonies has not been a simple google search.  Humans here are spread out and there are a lot of close neighbors who participate in a cult-type culture that is not something I desire to be welcomed in to, and their rules do not welcome outsiders, thank goodness.   One thing that has been easy and very comfortable is the library.  For such a small town we have a beautiful, functional library.  We visit regularly and teo is on speaking terms with both the nice people that work there.   I have suspected that if there are any homeschooling humans around, they could be found at the library.  Sure enough.
     After observing these particular children for a short time I felt confident enough to ask their mother is she was homeschooling them.  She smiled again and said yes.  I have been in the library enough times to watch what happens when public school kids come in to know the difference.  It felt so good to walk up to a stranger filled with desire for a lovely life for my child.  That was my motivation and it finally was bigger than all the old fears.  I have gotten really good at focusing on what I love and on what I want.  So now there is hope for a play date and even a new friend for me.  Someone kind who seemed to enjoy speaking with me and has nice skin and pretty eyes.

dog person

     I love Dixie so much.  I love going out the front door each morning and receiving her love.  She comes over to me wiggling because her tail wags so hard she can't really even walk.  I rub her neck and her chest and her chin and she turns around and around slowly at my feet all the time wagging that tail.  Dixie's tail is basically a club stuck on her bum.  When she wags the club, its heaviness moves her entire body.  When it strikes my leg I feel her solid love.  She can knock my kid down just by wagging her tail and nailing him in the chest with it.  I love Dixie so much.  When I come home she is right there to greet me and occasionally if she's not, I look for her and long for her and can't do anything until she comes bounding up the hill to beat me with her tail and lick my hands.  Loving a dog is such a wonderful, true, fulfilling experience.
     This is all new for me.  Dixie has been with me for almost a year and its the first time in my life to have a dog love.  I was not a dog person before I met Dixie.  I have friends who are dog people and I was not one of them.  I always respected their relationship and I knew that I just couldn't understand it.  Being a dog person was just a different love of dog that it was clear I did not have access to.  I liked dogs but my dog person friends loved their dogs on a level that was out of reach for me.  I figured it was just something to observe, never suspecting that one could be brought to the other side.
     And then it happened.  I met a dog that brought me over.  I found her on Craig's List and went to visit.  She jumped up on me and on her owner and on a tree and on anything she could find.  I don't like it when dogs jump up.  But I couldn't get enough of this dog.  She's big too, part Mastiff, part Pit Bull, real solid.  I could feel Dixie telling me that she just needed to run.  She was shut up in a small, fenced in yard in town.  Her humans loved her but their lifestyle just didn't fit her energy.  Somehow I just knew, like the sky is blue, that this dog would be wonderful once she got out of the yard and out into the open.  It felt like the deepest truth I'd ever known.
     So Dixie hopped in the back of my car and came home to the farm.  She runs every day for what seems like hours.  She never jumps up on me or anyone else.  She's my dog love and my heart just bursts thinking about her.

fear of death

     My understanding of human death has changed and it is such a relief.  When I was pregnant my friend Katherine told me her story about sputnik, which she defined as meaning 'fellow traveler'.  A sputnik is someone who will travel with you on a trip, or go together with you into a train of thought, following an idea.  After her husband died, Katherine was able to maintain communication with him,  deepening their connection over time as she learned to navigate this new form of relationship.   When I was pregnant and Katherine would think about our friendship and the coming baby, she always felt Garrick, her husband, say 'sputnik' very clearly.  She soon came to understand that the spirit of the baby and Garrick were fellow travelers, in the same form, on the same level.
     Knowing this from Katherine helped clarify many things for me.  I felt sure that the baby growing inside my body was alive and well but I did not believe that it was just a physical object created by cell division and growing from good nutrition.  I believed that the baby had chosen me to act as its mother and that it had chosen the time at which it came.  I knew that when I held this new baby in my arms for the first time, it would not be the baby's first time here on earth.  The body was new and that had formed inside of me, but the spirit was old and wise and independent, determined to live a life that it already understood would be full of expansion and wonder.
     Humans talk about where we go or what happens after we die.  Being pregnant made me wonder why it is not common to talk about where we come from.  I believe we come from the same place that we go to.  There are many words to describe it, all of them and none of them work.  Currently I use words like Universal Love,  the infinite, or just simply, sputnik.  Have you seen that Adam Sandler movie where he marries a friend so the fellow firefighter can gain insurance benefits?  The human that performs their wedding keeps talking about a circle, its like a circle.  The scene in that movie sums it all for me.  Its that simple.  Life is a circle.
     I keep wanting to put in a disclaimer and maybe here is a good place to do it.  In this physical life of mine, I have never had the experience of anyone close to me dying.  I am 44 and part of the issue is that I haven't been close to many people.   Katherine was my closest friend and she was someone I only saw once a month at best and had only known for 4 years.  And by the time she died I was already well into this understanding so she lives on so clearly in my everyday life.  When someone leaves that is someone I touch every day, I'm not sure how all these ideas will hold up.  That's partly why I want to get my beliefs sorted out as soon as possible.  This is a priority and writing about it really helps.
So
     I desire for my kid to grow up as free as possible, to live as a free human.  I believe he arrived totally free and mostly my responsibility lies in encouraging and supporting that freedom.  I try to speak very clearly and intentionally about issues that tend to box us humans in.  Like death.  I use the word die but I also use the words transition, change, return home.  But words are generally just Charlie Brown's teacher talking to a child and experience will really make the impression.  That is why I stand in awe of the infinite creativity and loving generosity of the Universe as I have watched my desire for a free child be supported by mama Jean.
     We met Annette about 2 1/2 years ago and became fast friends, and neighbors as she only lives 4 miles from here.  She lives with her mom, Jean, who is in her high 90's.  Over time we have watched Jean's physical body slow down and grow tired as they do.  Mateo and I have had the opportunity to talk many times about her transition, the process that she is going through.  We talked about how she is almost done with her physical body and her spirit will return to where he himself came from.  There has never been any sadness in these talks, only joy and awe at the beautiful human experience. We were blessed with the chance to visit only 12 hours before she left and mateo climbed right up in bed with her and stroked her skin, something he had never done in the past.  The next day we visited the family and he asked where they buried mama Jean.  Our friend and Jean's grand daughter Ashley, gave a lovely explanation of cremation and described how they would sprinkle her ashes and set her free.
     A few days ago we attended the Celebration of Life and mateo comforted Ashley by rubbing his cheek against hers and telling her that its alright, Grandma will come back in a different body.   (This is not something I personally have talked to him about but I like his idea that the spirit lives on and will continue to interact with our physical world.)  Ashley was comforted by his sincerity and that he sweetly allowed her to cry without becoming upset himself.  Oh the appreciation I feel for the whole experience is beyond my tiny human mind.  He is not even four yet and has had a lovely, intimate relationship with death and dying.  I am grateful to have known mama Jean for many reasons and I will always hold her dear as the generous being who left her body and left my child a chance to live free.
   embrace eternal


 

Fat Camp

     I have been fantasizing about hosting a Fat Camp here at the farm.  I remember that being kind of a thing when I was growing up.  Seems like there were movies and Young Adult fiction books glorifying the idea.  Probably it is not ok to speak, or write, of Fat Camps now, and many things I do are not ok so let us add one to the list.
      The physical activity I engage in on a typical day is way beyond what an average person would even be able to do.  I am thinking of the average person in our current 'American' culture, maybe driving to and from their job which probably involves sitting or standing in one place for many hours of the day.  My job as an ICU RN was quite physically active but when I changed to Hospice Nursing my bum got a lot bigger.  I was driving around in my car, visiting with people, and then documenting on the computer what I had done all day, which was sit, on my bum.
     When I moved to this farm my whole body began to change as I eagerly dug into the labor available.  I have always known that vigorous exercise is good for my particular constitution but had never found a way to incorporate it into life naturally.  Going to the gym was alright but my heart longed for something that I found on this farm.  Exercise or keeping physically fit just became more of a side effect of my life circumstances.  My body looked good not because I was all focused on slimming down but just because I got out of bed and lived my new life.  This is what my heart had longed for, a complete system, a whole life.  Seems like what I absorbed from society growing up was a division of ideas, a separation between parts of one's life.  I have always thought of myself as strong, able to open jars when other females cannot, that sort of thing.  But I also felt fat or big for most of my life.  Having a goal to slim down and look a certain way always loomed in the back of my mind and seemed like its own separate box that I never quite could get checked off.
     What a relief one day after moving here, to notice that, hey, I can get my jeans on easy and look, I can squat down in them with out severe pain where they used to cut into flesh.  The box had been checked for me.  I was slim, toned up.  And the funny thing was, now I hardly even cared about it.  I was living in the country and rarely going out in public, all my neighbors wear long skirts and head coverings so they did not care about my cute bum and shapely arms.  My life was satisfying in so many new ways that looking a certain way had truly become a side effect and not a separate goal.  Now I felt whole in a new way.
     This has been a few years ago now and I continue to marvel at the strength and joy my body provides.  I was charging up some hill the other day saying right out loud how grateful I am to be 44 years old, barefoot, carrying a heavy load, climbing this here gate and not even breathing hard.   The celebration of my body and its capabilities is a continuous source of amazement for me.   Its wonderful that I struggled with it for so long because now it just never gets old.  Look at me, carrying two heavy buckets, barefoot, over uneven, hilly terrain, I'm making sugar in the woods!  Look at me holding on to this rope while a 4 month old monster bull calf tries, and fails, to show me which way we are going to go.   Look at me, carrying my 30 pound kid on my back for half an hour, going up and down hills, chasing cows up to the milk barn.  I love it.  I am not working out, I am just living.
     So anyway, Fat Camp.  I love the idea of hosting a bunch of soft, squishy women here at the farm. We could get up every morning and take a little walk to warm up and then do some gentle stretching.
I would lead them on a long, hilly walk out to the woods and we would gather fire wood with hand saws.  There would be heavy buckets to carry and milk cans to lift, paths to be cleared and fences to tear down.  The labor available is endless and its all outside in a beautiful place.  The farm would benefit greatly from all the labor and the positive energy of the ladies.  Oh it would be so fun the laughter alone would tone up bellies.
     Living this kind of life every day is not for everyone, diversity of ideas and humans makes the world alive and beautiful.  That is why I love the idea of Fat Camp because people could come for a short time to dive in and try something new while maybe losing a few pounds and tightening things up.  They could gain huge satisfaction knowing their labor was a lasting contribution to something real and functional.  I imagine I would be a good host because I have lived soft and desired something different.  I know what it feels like to want to love my body.  Putting our bodies to work, meaningful work, is such a fun way to love them.  And they will love us back.

Sign up information is below
Space is limited
Call for details

Germ Theory

     I got into a pleasant discussion with some new friends at a weekend gathering back in January.  They were speaking of living in a way that allowed just their vegetable operation to support them without need for 'jobs' off the farm.  I piped in and encouraged them to pursue this option.  Not having had a 'job' myself for over 5 years now, its fun to nudge others in the direction of disentangling themselves from the system.  My friend Katherine was accused of having "No visible means of support" and she felt this a great compliment.  I see it that way also.
      Moving towards not needing an outside job in large part comes from slashing expenses.  And slashing expenses is a life style change.  It is a paradigm shift.  If one comes to value their time at home and their personal freedom more and more, this is a natural process.   I would only discuss this with someone who was wondering about it.  The shift has to be part of the person's natural evolution and general direction in life.  Forcing this kind of change does not work and when it happens easily the results can be beautiful.
     My new friends and I felt comfortable discussing numbers and really examining how to live simply and stay at home to pursue passions and live a fulfilling life.  I offered the number $6,000.  That is what I live on here at the farm with two other humans.  Two adults and one growing child live comfortably, and I mean luxuriously, on $6,000 per year.  Now this land is paid off so that changes everything.  Moving towards freedom is a process and shifting a paradigm can take some time so knowing that one is moving towards paying off land by slashing expenses can be so helpful.
     Part of what helped me spend less money was a little rule I made up for myself in 2003 after reading a book about factories in China that produce all of the items sold in any Walmart or Target store here in the good ole USA.  I decided to only buy things that were 'made in USA'.   It quickly became clear that I was now unable to buy almost anything.   I became a bit obsessed, examining every package of socks, looking at the tag of every item and then quickly putting it down when it did not say USA.  I was not all pro-USA, I was just trying to pay attention to what my money was supporting.  Just the thought of a huge, stinky ship crossing the beautiful ocean only to carry this item to me was enough to help me put it down and walk away.  This rule for myself was sort of a game I began to play and it turned into a real life style change.
     Then it seemed reasonable to cash in my retirement account from the nursing job I was still working.  I knew the money was being used to fund wars and produce dangerous, useless chemicals so I took it away from the investment company.  That is my money and the interest earned isn't worth the cost to humanity.  My paradigm was really shifting.  Then I quit my nursing job, rented out rooms in my house and started working on vegetable farms.  My monetary income had fallen 75% and I'd never been happier.  I was barefoot in the sunshine 6 days a week, eating better than I ever had, and getting real physical exercise that had me looking better than ever too.  Then I rented out the whole house and moved to this farm where I've been for over 8 years.  Now the expense slashing really got going.
     I thought I had been living simply and I had, for city standards.  But moving out here to the deep country changed even more than I knew could be changed.  I loved it.   That's why it works for me.  One has to be ready and the change has to be a natural part of a life's path.
     So in the discussion with my new friends one thing I did not feel comfortable mentioning are my views on and experience with, the germ theory.  Letting go of the fear of germs and really understanding how planet earth functions with humans and all creatures actually helped me slash expenses.  This is a bit confusing to me because the process was so gradual and I remain a comfortable human, not disease ridden, as popular culture would declare.   I remember spending much energy trying to decide which shampoo would help my hair look good and which lotion would make my skin nice and I wanted the biggest bottle so I wouldn't need to buy more in a few weeks and I wanted organic because I had the money and so might as well support companies that were trying to do the right thing... blah blah blah.
     Its so weird to me now, all those hours in the isle at whole foods reading labels and the money handed over at the cash register.  Now, here on the farm, knowing what I know about the planet where we live, I don't use soap to wash my dishes.  I don't use soap to wash my kid.  I don't use shampoo to wash my hair.  I don't use soap to wash the milking equipment.  We do pay for LP gas that heats our water and we use really hot water, that is to me, a luxury that I truly enjoy.  My diet is so different now than it used to be with all the healthy fat that I eat every single day that I don't require lotion anymore.  Even in the winter!  I mean I can't really even believe it.  I've lived in Michigan most of my 44 years and lotion in the winter is just a fact of life.  Nope.  Not anymore.  I haven't bought a bottle of lotion for many years.  My skin does not get dry, it is soft and quite beautiful.  I guess you could say I eat the lotion.  And chapstick either, not needed.  Because I don't use soap to wash my hair all the natural oils stay and do what they're supposed to do, nourish my hair and my scalp.  I rinse it with water occasionally and I brush it every day but not spending money on shampoo and conditioner has been life changing for me.
     This all seems simple and silly and a bit crazy.  Its not something I generally discuss with people, that I don't use soap to wash my dishes.  I am perfectly happy with my life and the home I live in and I want to respect other people's religious views about the germ theory.  If I started spouting off about how biodiversity makes the world go round, they would feel that I was threatening the bottles under their sink that they hold so dear.  This paradigm shift is not for everyone and I just wanted to share the truth about my life because it feels good to come clean - ha!  If there is anyone else out there who suspects they could change a few things in their life but it feels weird, I want to encourage you.  Go with what you feel may be right, even though it looks totally different than everything around you.

Luxurious

Frequently ideas about luxury and extravagance come to mind when reflecting on my life situation.  I find myself living an extravagant life style, basking in luxury.  Some looking from the outside in, would not use those words to describe what goes on here.  As Mary Poppins says, "it all depends on your point of view".
Working as an RN in the Trauma / Burn Intensive Care Unit of a University Hospital, I knew what hard work was.  Twelve hour shifts that regularly included a two to four hour dressing change where up to five people worked on one patient in a 100  degree Fahrenheit room while wearing plastic gowns, face coverings, and all hoping the person lived through the end of our shift, at least.  To me, that's what hard work feels like.  As I left nursing and started farming one phrase I heard repeatedly from people was, "oh farming, that's hard work".  I still hear it quite a bit and I generally do not even try to explain my point of view any more.  It is possible that I am not a farmer, especially in the sense that most people think of.  It is also likely that people who say things like, "that's hard work" have a limited view of life's experiences.
     I've been 'farming' now for over seven years and a clear distinction has developed for me between labor and work.  Work is generally not something I participate in anymore.  I prefer to labor.  And it is similar to word choices people use when discussing God, or a higher power, or Universal Love, we use words that are comfortable for us.  Labor for me has become something that sustains my luxury.  It keeps my body in good physical shape and it feeds my soul like singing worship in a black church in Ypsilanti.  I am good at labor, its one thing I was called here to do.
     I love being barefoot outside as much as I can.  When its cold out but the wood stove is kicking out heat, its feels wonderful to me to run out side, let my bare feet touch the earth for a few moments and then come inside for a nice pair of clean socks.   For six or seven months of the year living a life that allows bare feet every day is a life of luxury.  No sidewalks, no pavement, just the earth in all her lovely forms to walk upon, mud, grass, ankle high creeks.
     I guess the food is one of the main reasons I feel luxury and extravagance in my everyday life.  I love food.  I love to eat.  I'm a good eater.  Physical labor goes well with an enjoyment of eating, they balance each other out.   I am not talking about 'oh I had the best meal out at dinner last night'.      The food here is amazing, as in nourishing, flavorful, and alive.  I do feel qualified to describe food in this way.  There was money in my life for a significant span of time and I have eaten at fine restaurants and shopped at quality, high end stores.   This food is different.  And I eat it every day.  Every day, for every meal!
     Bacon, how many days this week do I want to eat bacon?  Just reach into the freezer and grab a package.  Sugar.  Just let the sugar lumps pour into a quart jar of kefir.  Ice cream, oh the ice cream.  As much as I can eat.  Many times I sprinkle sugar on my ice cream as a topping.  Cheese, oh good Lord the Cheese.  Warm cheese curd, fried cheese curd, soft fresh cheese, soft older cheese, hard cheese, its all here.  I can eat as much cheese as I want all day every day.  OK so part of the luxury comes from my current understanding of human health.  I know that the evil cholesterol they speak of is an illusion.  I know that eggs and milk from this place are not even the same food as the eggs and 'milk' available to people who believe in cholesterol.  I know that fat is what makes up the wall of each cell in my body.  Each cell.  So I need to eat some fat, and I do, unlimited amounts of fat.  Because the fat from this food is fat in its pure, original form.  Nourish, that's what the food here does for my body, it nourishes my body.
     More than I realized, luxury does depend on one's point of view.  It would be dangerous to eat all this glorious food while subscribing to western medical 'knowledge'.   I believe it could make a person sick.  So I stand in appreciation for my understanding of the perfect human body and the delicious food that has been abundantly provided to nourish that physical self.
I live an extravagant, luxurious life and I enjoy excellent physical health and I am so grateful!

commitment

Turns out, I am committed to a way of life.  Society helped me believe that I would be committed to a man and our children and that would be the whole world.  Not so.  That is one way to live and I see it working for some people.  They live their lives around work schedules for jobs that pay the bills.
Things turned out different for me and as I am noticing it and accepting it, I feel satisfied.  Feeling satisfied in this life is a tremendous accomplishment and one I am proud of.  Making a decision to experience contentment and satisfaction with circumstances around me has been liberating.
     Here I am on this huge piece of land with a child and a grumpy old man that takes care of the big things.  He put my name on the deed to this land.  He gave me 120 acres.  I feel it is rare and so special to have received a gift of land.  A really big piece of land.  And its beautiful here, I love it.  I love living in Michigan and this place where I find myself settled is a fine example of Michigan beauty.  There are hills and trees, wetlands, creeks, woods and open fields, all on a dirt road.  I love living on a dirt road.
     What I have here is freedom.  Freedom from hangups and attachments to money that used to rule my life much more than I realized.  Freedom from mirrors and caring about how I look.  I do not go out in public much, maybe once a week.  I love my hair and my coloring and my body and I feel satisfied with the labor I participate in every day.  So when I go out I present a whole person who is not really interested in the latest fashion.  I am comfortable in my clothes and not influenced by the media images that so many people take in multiple times a day.  Freedom.
      And I don't really expect anyone to understand this.  I only understand it because I've made a decision to embrace this freedom.  It is different, new and unique to my experience.   Each person that truly experiences freedom will have their own story to tell.
     The life style that I lead here lets me choose labor over working.  Being free to develop my personal relationship with God with out pressure from social forces to behave a certain way in order to correctly represent a business.   I believe it is possible to develop one's relationship with God under any circumstances and I really enjoy doing it here, raw.  Labor instead of working means that there is no job that pays me money for my work.  I labor to get the sugar I want.  I could work a job and take the money earned to the store and buy sugar.  Here, sugar means a month of labor.  Carrying heavy buckets of sap quite a distance over uneven terrain.  (Barefoot.  Many days it is warm enough to do this barefoot.  One of the top freedoms that I am committed to.)  Gathering large amounts of firewood with hand saws.   Finding small dead trees, cutting them down and sawing into pieces that can then be dragged or carried quite a distance back to the fire.  All for sugar.
     I love sugar, always have.  This is the only sugar I'll eat all year.  I don't buy processed food or drink at the grocery store.  I eat what this place provides me with so the only sugar that goes in my body is the sugar my body directly labored for in the woods.  This is how I am understanding my commitment.  There is nothing I would rather be doing.  It fulfills my soul.  I feel honored beyond belief to receive the gift of sugar from mama earth.  I am harvesting the abundance of what is offered and to me it is worship.  I love sugar, the trees are offering and I am receiving.  Its a beautiful relationship.  That's what it is.  I am committed to a relationship.  I am married to the earth and I am committed to listening to her, learning from her, sharing my gifts with her and working together as a loving, seamless beautiful creative experience.