Be the change you wish to see in the World...

Well its official. Sort of. Mostly.

We got a farm. And I already know what you're going to say, "where's the pictures?" Trust me I understand how underwhelming a blog post is without pictures, and this being my second offense, I seriously run the risk of losing readers so I'm going to find you a picture of some sort to post. :)

I'll give you more details as we get closer, and I get pictures. But let me give you a little taste... 42 acres. WHAT?!? Yup, 42. Holy Shit, that's a lot of land. And it has some awesome housemates/landmates. Young people our age with similar goals, interests, and work ethics, its going to keep the rent cheap,and the helping hands abundant. In fact they are already out there, with chickens, llamas, and goats. So it has already started. And we are STOKED!

But laying in bed this morning unable to sleep due to all the thoughts running through my head, I realized there has been a great leap in connecting dots for some of you, huge shifts in our way of thinking, major changes in our overall plans, some on a daily basis. So I wanted to take the time to answer the question:

"Why Farming?"

For me the answer is a simple one, I love food. Always have. Some of you were aware that one of the reasons we moved out here was so that I could go to Culinary School. That is still a goal. But with the end result being owning our own restaurant or cafe, I have become obsessed with food sourcing. You know that whole slow food, eat local, support your local farmer craze that's sweeping the nation...? Well not quite yet, but we are going to do our part. Just like in construction where I am also OCD in trying to control all aspects of the material sourcing, waste, and final product, I'm worse when it comes to my thought process on our food situation.

The second part to my answer is a bit more complicated. I believe that with knowledge and wealth comes great responsibility. And since we live in the richest, most prosperous, most educated country, I feel a duty to apply the knowledge of our countries food situation, to a local solution stemming from our back yard. The majority of our national agricultural product is grown to feed animals. Granted we usually end up eating those animals, but the food we grow to feed them is not the nutrition they need or flourish on, rather its cheap to grow, and causes fast animal meat production. Not to mention leads to horrible animal treatment situations. Also we import vegetables from all over the world, in order to provide grocery stores and consumers visually perfect, out of season, nutritiously deficient, products that have traveled thousands of miles to arrive in your town.

So whats the solution you ask? Easy. Know where the food you feed your kids, your family, yourself, comes from. Our goal is to provide as close to a closed loop food system as possible while still living in a modern society. Our animals will be pastured on our land, fed supplemental feed grown on our land, or a neighbors. We will grow fruits and vegetables that everyone knows and loves, and some "imported" exotics, while utilizing Oregon's temperate climate to provide the staples year round. We will preserve, and prepare, food products from our land to help tide people over during the winter months. In the long run, our cafe, or possibly food truck, will only serve food cooked with ingredients that we had a hand in every stage of production.

Its going to be a long and tiring road to get there I know, with lots of bumps and changes of plans I'm sure, but we are both so excited that all the work might just feel like play... ;) Even if we only succeed in feeding ourselves and our friends and loved ones, that would be a giant success in my mind. And one small  aspect of affecting the change we wish to see in the world. I cant wait to share these experiences with you all.

 

Told you I was going to post a picture! And this one sums up Americas food system quite well.

 

My Hands

So I remember being 9, or maybe 10, when I started paying attention to the hands on the men in my family. The bumps, the marks, the scars, the shape, the texture. Some members of my extended family had smooth hands with manicured nails, those always looked odd to me. Like a pair of shoes with no scuffs, or the jeans that still had the creases from the folds applied at the shopping store. The ones I always noticed where the ones that looked that they had a story,  had been lived in... Used. Some of those types of hands still looked odd, like they didn't fit well. The proportions where off.

Then there were my Grandfathers. Huge hands, massive really, for a man even of his size. The knuckles were always scuffed, and raw, and raised, like he had just then gotten out of a bar brawl. I'm not sure the man was ever even in a fight. The nails where misshapen, some almost missing, others just acutely shaped due to the repetition of abuse. His skin was so rough, it was audible from across the room when he would rub his monstrous hands together. There was it seems always a relatively fresh wound, or scab, or scar just beginning to heal. His hands where his tools. He worked with them until the day he died. He cared for more people with them than can be counted, and that's just in our family, there were numerous others. He held my Grandmothers hand with them at church, and I have always respected that. I remember looking down at my hands, the comparatively small size, smoothness of my skin, lack of any sign of experience, adventure, or life.I was envious. I wanted the "battle" scars. I dreamed of some day looking down at my own hands and seeing a story of a life well lived. Honor. Hard work. Integrity. All the greatest things I saw in my Grandfather were outwardly evident in his hands. They told his life story.

Fast forward  almost 20 years. My hands are finally starting to show signs of life. There are now scars that wont fade, from years of hard outdoor work in the brutal weather of Montana . Crooked bends that will forever be there due to the enthusiastic adventures of an active youth . The middle knuckle on both hands stand out like miniature impressions of Granite Peak, which if you ask my mother could only be attributed to cracking my knuckles early in life. Its also possible they have developed from delivering more than their share of immediate justice. Some warranted, even need, most because of my overactive sense of "right and wrong"... But here we are, I have earned the beginnings, of a story of a life well lived.

It is with this entry, my first ever in the blogosphere, that I begin the accounting of the what the future will hold for me, For Jamie and I.

The title is an honest assessment of my place in the world.  I will forever be a Montanan. Its in my blood. In my brain. In my body. Most importantly in my heart. But as has been evident a few times in life, I will not always live within its physical borders. This is my story of always remembering the lessons Ive learned, not saying no just because it may fail, and trying my best to make a positive change in the world we see around us.

We live in Portland, Oregon now. And its beautiful here. I truly appreciate its difference, and wonder. We came here for specific reasons, and I feel like it was the right thing to do. We will create a small picture of the world we wish to see here, because the opportunity to do so is more available. But in the back of my mind will always be the question, "how do you we apply this, or bring this model, back to Montana?"

Here shortly I will ironically enough be traveling back and forth from North Dakota for work. In the oil fields. Not my first choice. Not the place I thought I would see myself applying my talents and work ethic. Yet, the possibilities of what this short sacrifice will afford us is too much to pass up. 24 months of 4 weeks on 2 weeks off is what we have set our sights on. Our goals. Our life.

This will be the place to get an update on how that is playing out.

I love you all.

Trevor   aka TheLostMontanan