On rest and care
The pigs hanging out. They have mastered the art of rest much better than I have.
About a month ago, Emilee with Abundant Montana reached out. She was writing a blog series on how meat producers balance the duality of putting so much effort into raising our livestock, only to also plan and see through their deaths. It was a very thoughtful and important question, and I loved chatting with Emilee about my experience with the full cycle of life on our farm. (Check out her full blog post here!)
As I was going on (and on….and on, probably from Emilee’s point of view) all about our pigs, our focus on heritage breed conservation, our specialized corn and soy-free feed program, all the things we do differently from mainstream ag to provide our pigs the most natural and fulfilled life possible, Emilee asked a question that made me pause: something along the lines of “You’ve described how you care for your pigs. How do you and your husband build in care for yourselves day-to-day on the farm?”
Her question stunned me for a moment, because I didn’t have any answer for it.
In Abundant Montana’s blog, you’ll see that I answered with a joke about caring so much about what our pigs eat and how they live and then sometimes also throwing in a frozen pizza at the end of the day for us humans. Which is very true. That has absolutely happened (more than once).
In the weeks following our conversation though, Emilee’s question stayed forefront on my mind. Because the deeper truth is that there isn’t much rest in this stage of our lives and our farm. The question of prioritizing care — for ourselves — had honestly not crossed my mind. We are in our third year of raising Meishan pigs, our first year bringing our pork to local markets, raising young kids, and working a job and half between Ben and I. Starting a farm is an intense expenditure of resources on almost every front: money, infrastructure, time, logistics, physical and mental effort. We prioritize our kids and our pigs (as it should be). And that often means that at the end of the day, rest and self-care is a short night’s sleep before we get up to start it all over again.
Early morning sunlight on our farrowing barn — originally an old homestead house.
I know we’re not unique among farmers and ranchers (or parents of young kids). Every person I know that raises livestock pours every bit of energy they have into the wellbeing of their animals. It’s assumed that during calving season, ranchers are sleeping in 2-4 hour shifts to check their herd and assist with births if needed. We’ve done the same with our farrowing pigs. During haying you will see tractors run day and night, because the weather doesn’t wait for anyone and can make or break a hay harvest. Irrigation and milking schedules cannot be missed. For us, working “outside” jobs is what has funded the startup of our farm, and means that early mornings, evenings, and weekends are crammed with all the things that need to be done: daily chores, fencing, building projects, licensing, bookkeeping, marketing….the list is truly endless.
We have no regrets about not having rest in our lives right now. We’re giving everything we have to make this dream of a farm come true, in the most meaningful way possible — not raising food that disappears into a national and worldwide system, but making good food from happy animals for our local communities. Not a faceless commody, but for us and our family and our neighbors.
Both Ben and I know this pace isn’t sustainable forever. And, being farmers, we are also embedded in the cyclical nature of life: seasons; day to night; birth, life, and death. This season will also pass, and we’ll talk about how crazy we were to start a farm with a toddler and literal newborn. There will be a future day when we do have more rest, more care, built into our days. For now, care is snuggling our kiddos at the end of the day, giving the pigs a scratch with their morning breakfast, snapping a photo of a stunning sunset, and the couple minutes of sipping coffee before we get going on a to-do list that always outstrips the hours in the day.
Moonrise on the mountains.