damn right it’s better than yours

Farming has been slowly but surely taking over my life. We started selling at farmers markets about a month ago and our CSA started last week.  With all that going on, Monday turns to Friday in two shakes of a lambs tail.

Just as I was morphing into a stressball of fire, I got a much needed escape from the farm this past weekend to attend Mother Earth News Fair!

The food vendors were mostly shockingly horrible, but otherwise it was a good time. I attended workshops on:

~ cheesemaking and other raw milk recipes (I make cheese now, btw. Just made a batch tonight, in fact.)

~ aquaponics

~ earth ovens

~ medicinal herbs and mushrooms

~ beekeeping

I have big dreams for Cloudivew. Big, big dreams! A dream is a wish your heart makes.

I also met a beautiful, vibrant and wise woman named Linda Zurich who totally rocked my world with her talks on mushrooms, interconnectedness, our toxic society and sacred geometry. Obviously, I loved her.

Also also, I now have a slightly humungous crush on Miles Olson. I would like to ask the internet (or just the lovely readers of my blog) your opinion on whether it would be too creepy to try to register for one of his workshops and/or try to get him to speak at the farm I work at after spending the weekend following him around, feasting on prolonged eye contact and never having the balls to actually introduce myself. Hmm?

Creepy internet stalker.

On a more serious note, I also really enjoyed a talk given by Woody Tasch, friend of my farm-owner and founder of Slow Money. The Slow Money organization is fighting the monster inside our thoroughly effed up food system from the financio-economic side (I made that up) by finding investors who want to support small local farmers and entrepreneurs who are trying to do something good. If you have money, please check it! You might be lending some to me one day, who knows?

Woody’s speech included this quote from Robert F. Kennedy that moved me to write this blog post in the first place:

“Too much and too long, we seem to have surrendered community excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things. Our gross national product … if we should judge America by that – counts air pollution and cigarette advertising, and ambulances to clear our highways of carnage. It counts special locks for our doors and the jails for those who break them. It counts the destruction of our redwoods and the loss of our natural wonder in chaotic sprawl. It counts napalm and the cost of a nuclear warhead, and armored cars for police who fight riots in our streets. It counts Whitman’s rifle and Speck’s knife, and the television programs which glorify violence in order to sell toys to our children.

“Yet the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages; the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage; neither our wisdom nor our learning; neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country; it measures everything, in short, except that which makes life worthwhile. And it tells us everything about America except why we are proud that we are Americans.”


-Robert F. Kennedy Address, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kansas, March 18, 1968

Hearing that made me think briefly of something I wrote a few months ago, before coming out to the northwest, that I would invite you to read here.

It’s currently my favorite post in this blog. There’s a facet of RFK’s quote that directly reflects why I left a cushy world in which I could make as much money in a single hour as I earn for two days of much harder work as an organic farm intern.

I understand that what I’m writing here probably comes off as very self-righteous coupled with the title I have up there, but I really just felt like a nice sassy title. I hope I got that horrible song stuck in your head for the rest of the day!

I would like to end this with the immortal words of The Bouncing Souls:

fuck the industry, do it yourself!


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