Roots

I just finished watching the "Fresh" documentary.  (Thank you, Netflix!)

I have to admit, I'm a little teary-eyed.

Many of the simple, natural principles explained within "Fresh", and many of the other documentaries like it, speak to my very core.

Joel Salatin is my idol.

Michael Pollan preaches the gospel.

My 'American Dream' isn't a McMansion in an H.O.A. dominated, affluent suburb. In fact, driving in housing developments give me minor panic attacks. Living in one would be like a reoccurring nightmare, from which there would be no escape.

As the years pass, my desires to return to my roots on a farm, only intensify.

 


My recent trip home, brought me back to the place where my heart is rooted the deepest.

Grandpa's farm.








This is where the very center of who I am, began. Animal-loving, dirt-digging, blue jeans-wearing, crafty, farmer, tom-boy. It's a place that taught me the values of a hard day's work & being able to sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labor.


I witnessed first hand (quite literally) the birth of my future hamburgers and bacon.

As sad as it is to see the various barns that housed these pets - and the farmhouse, itself - weather & decay over the years; there is a lasting beauty to them, as well.

Memories and lessons learned that I cherish, all of which I can only hope to pass on to my children, one day.

My American Dream is being self-sustaining.

To sit on my back porch at night, listening to the song of the cicadas & gazing at the stars.

To invite friends and family over for days of canning and cocktails.

To have a family that shares in delights of spring planting and harvesting throughout the summer and fall.

To have my own goddamn Eggmobile.