Let not many of you desire to be teachers...

I told my classes yesterday that I would not be returning to the school next year.  As is to be expected there was a range of reactions.  All this week, there have been little things, a sight, a smell, a person that have been triggering memories of incidents or conversations that have taken place over the last four and half years.  One such "trigger" happened while I was subbing for a co-worker.  During the prayers of petition that always accompany the beginning of this particular class, a young freshman asked that her classmates remember her brother who was being inducted into the Phi Beta Kappa fraternity this weekend.  "He is an incredibly bright student who has a very promising career in politics ahead of him."  This is how one of my colleagues who taught him and keeps in contact with him even since graduation from high school describes him.  I, however, had a very different experience.

It is the second or third day that I began working as a long-term substitute at the school I am about to leave, a bit over four years ago. I am seeking to prove to the students that such things as black and white (and red for that matter) actually do exist - in other words we are speaking of moral absolutes.

    PhiBetaKappa Student: That may be true for you, but it is not true for me.

    Me:  So there is no such thing as truth.

    PBK: Right.

    Me: Except of course for that assertion.

    PBK: Yes, the only truth is that there is no truth.

    Me: So then how does one determine what is right and wrong for oneself?

    PBK: By what benefits oneself.

    Me: That's dangerous thinking, my friend.  What if I believe gassing Jews benefits me?

    PBK: As distasteful as that may seem, if you truly believe it to benefit you, then you have a right to pursue    that as far as you are able.  The Jews, of course have a right to keep that from happening to themselves, if they believe it is right to repel you, or even, when they are able in their own turn, to gas you and your kind.

     Me: So then "might makes right"?

     PBK: Yes.

     Me:  You are defending the Holocaust?

     PBK: No, I'm defending utilitarianism.

     Me to the rest of the class:  Can you all believe this?

     Class: (Tentively nodding their heads, one girl speaks up): He's making a good case for it.

BELL RINGS

Later in line waiting for lunch, dumbfounded, I speak with a fellow teacher about the incident.

     Me: I cannot believe that these kids are actually embracing utilitarianism, at least verbally.

     Teacher: Really?!?

     Me: Yeah, they were defending th--

     Teacher:  That makes me so happy!  They're listening!  I've been teaching them what utilitarianism is, and   he's internalized it...it's his now!

     Me - mouth hanging open

     Teacher: This is the kind of thing that makes it all worth it...you'll see.

Catholic schools have given to the world bright luminaries such as Isaac Newton, J.R.R. Tolkein, and Anjeze Bojaxhiu, but we have also educated Adolf Hitler, Pol Pot, and Athanase Seromba.  Which road will this young man choose?

Why I want to be a farmer.

Fr. Wolfe explains why I want to be a farmer.

God grant him happiness in this life and the next.

Thank you Lord for my children, who keep me out of too much trouble.  I was at the grocery store last night, and there was a 50 something man wearing a sweatshirt with two completely nude pole dancers plastered across his back fat.  I caught up with him in the dairy section and asked him to take it off (it was a zip up thing).  He kept asking what I meant, then why.  He explained that if I didn't like it I should just not look at it.  I queried as to where he was raised and then suggested he go back to that place.  As he took his leave I kicked his ankles.  Rage clouds a person's judgement, I guess.  I'll have to go back to the store for the rest of the stuff I forgot tonight. 

Wasting Time

So right now I'm babysitting a class of highly motivated high school juniors.  Being a substitute provides a lot of opportunity to waste time, in fact it almost mandates it.  I fear that I'm going to miss such outings, as well as things like Spring Break and three day weekends.

Blogging is hard...

So it's been almost two months since I last posted...and before that I only posted a handful of times.  If anyone is reading this, thanks.  I've come to the conclusion that much like Olympic speedwalking, blogging is harder than it looks.  There are several reasons for this.  

First, one should have something to say.  This may be an optional thing for many, but for me it means that I have to also try to think of a clever way of saying it, in which I overthink and over-use ideas, words and concepts to the point of not saying anything at all.

Secondly, I found that when I posted something in the past, I would check my stats several times an hour to see who was viewing.  When in the course of  a week I had 3 views and 1 comment, I began to experience the beginnings of an existential crisis.  I found not posting to be a much simpler solution to overcoming the dark pit of despair than posting more.

Finally, there seems to be an inverse correlation between the amount of time you spend on one thing (ie milking cows) and the amount of time you spend on another (ie sleeping).    I've attempted to explain this concept with a graph.    

In the last two months I've: made 125 pounds of sausage, 50 pounds of jerky, 40 gallons of yogurt, 10 gallons of kefir, 3 pounds of cheese, bought 30 chickens, 3 cows (well not exactly bought) 8 rabbits, 20 high capacity magazines, 2 firearms, 1200 rounds of ammo, hit 3 deer, burned one television in a bonfire, turned in my resignation at one job, signed a contract for another, taught my children how to slackline, shampooed my living room carpet, and entered 1 blog post.    

"Congratulations" Are In Order

By: The Covert Farmer's Wife

Entry #1.  Wow- hacking into my husband's blog was surprisingly easy!  Can I begin by saying, "What a joy it is for me to be sharing in this, our exciting new adventure in life?"
Oh yes, this vision of ours seems too big sometimes and a little uncertain.
Hard? Definitely.
But mostly, it seems just right, exciting, fresh, attainable.

4 years ago, I dreaded the move from the city to the country.  I'm a 'town-girl' after all. I liked being minutes from the store, park, library, friends- being able to run out for errands on a whim.  Not that I shopped all the time, but I did so enjoy having the temptation close by!  After we 'went rural' (and gas prices jumped up so high), taking a trip to town in the suburban was too costly to go without just cause. (Problem: Dear Darling's and my idea of  'just cause' rarely match up....but that's a whole other post for another day.)  Anyhow, as our scenery changed from pavement, billboards, shops and speeding lunatics into pasture, grazing animals and AMAZING artwork in the clouds, I knew it was right.  The Good Lord ever so kindly began swapping my idea of modern family living for His idea of fine country living.  Let it suffice to say that the scenery is uplifting, the air is fresh and the children are healthy and safe- much different than in H-town!
---
But that's not the real point of my intrusion into hubby's blog... it's supposed to be about these many 'unfinished projects' he's referred to.  Of course I know about them- THEY are not covert! :)  I've written lists, I've reminded, I've waited, I've complained and I've even given up hope (on a few).  But Dear Darling, let me be the first to compliment you & congratulate you on FINISHING A JOB! I'm proud of you.

He did something hard this weekend.  He worked hard, bit the bullet, drank a lot of coffee, muscled 300 pounds of metal and accomplished something great for our family and...........


....... you can all read about it tomorrow!!!!!!! (pictures and all)

Twilight

School started back today, and so my break was over.  It's always a little bit depressing, when I get back into my usual routine.  I get up and have to leave the house by 6:15. It's dark and everyone is asleep.  I used to eat breakfast, but it's just no fun sitting there by myself. I pray the Rosary on the way to work; that's good, but still I'm all alone.  I used to think that I was a loner.  I've discovered that it's not that I don't like crowds, it's just that I'm not a very good conversationalist.  On the rare occasion that I go to a party, I have more fun just being a fly on the wall than I do actively participating in the escapades around me.  I think, that  for me people around me is just a security blanket. If my wife ever kicks the bucket, I think I'd have a great time as a contemplative monk in a cenobitic community.  Lots of people around, whom I am forbidden to talk with - sounds like heaven on earth to me!

Anyways, school lets out at 4, and I have an hour drive to get home.  Right now that means I have about 30-45 minutes of actual daylight left to get things done outside.  In the past, I've tried to use that time to sneak off to some corner of the house and grab a nap, but no more.  I figure that if I'm actually going to earn a living at this stuff, I've got to be productive.  Most of the farmers and ranchers that I know actually do continue working after the sun goes down, when there is an important task to get done, but I'm not to that point just yet...maybe I should be though.

This evening, I decided to do something I should have done a few months ago.  I've got a redneck hunting blind.  It's a 25 year old double wide mobile home that also doubles as my place of residence.  Exactly 100 yards from the front porch is a deer feeder with a clear line of sight.  Before the season started, I filled this feeder with 200 lbs. of all-stock sweet feed.  If you know what "cubes" are for cattle (aka. cake) think of that, just much smaller.  I thought this would be a great solution, because I know that the deer like it and it was $2 cheaper than corn per sack.  Well, lo and behold, the stuff just doesn't do very well in my whirling feeder.  In fact, it doesn't do anything at all, except just sit there.  So no feed on the ground meant no deer from my front porch.  I had to go out hunting.  Luckily, 4 deer have offered their lives for my family's sustenance, but I still have 1 tag left to fill, as well as a couple of friends with licenses that haven't been so fortunate.

So when I got home, I found a little kid wandering around the pasture and we got to work emptying out the old stuff, spreading some of it, and putting fresh corn in the feeder.  We even had enough of the sweet feed left over to fill the two empty feed sacks left.  Now I just have to finish that dadgum fence.  Two weeks left in antlerless and spike season, gotta get a move on.

The Scarlet Letter U

The best piece of literary fiction ever written is the Scarlet Letter.  (My sincere apologies to the fans of Rowling, Grisham, Clancy or any of the other literary geniuses of the High Post-Post-Modern era.) Though, I was assigned this reading in high school, Clifford's redaction of the work did not convey all the that I believe Mr. Hawthorne wished to impart to my youthful soul.  As an adult who has ruminated over the book at leisure and by choice, now, I believe that one of the most compelling lessons to be gleaned from the life of Hester Prynne is that of the wonderful, transforming power of shame.  For all of the strange and hell-born doctrines which the Puritans of New England embraced, this perhaps was the one treasure that should have been held to tightly by future generations.

I, for one, am hoping that the same mysterious force that was able to change a proud, pioneering adulteress into a goodly, puritan saint might also work its magic on me here and now as I seek to embark on my rustic adventure.  My scarlet letter, though must be the letter "U" --- as in UNFINISHED.  If ever you have visited  my home, you have probably seen my many, many "Pearls" - tangible evidence of such a vile soul, gorged on a feast of sloth.

There is the picket fence that would have looked so lovely, all white washed, surrounding our bountiful garden...

Or the milking stanchion that was sure to make the purchase of dairy goods a thing of the past...

Or the electric fence that would create a deer-friendly zone for venison harvesting...

Or the barbed wire fence that was to replace the aforementioned electric fence...

Or the gate that would have made access to the pasture an easy affair...

Or, the most picturesque of all, the farmyard chicken coop, that would have jettisoned us on our way to true self-sufficiency thus changing the course of all mankind.

Yes, these are my bastard children, born of the passionate embrace of a weekend off, and left now to fend for themselves against the elements, while my own Hester has patiently (for the most part) endured the shame  associated with my sin.   No more, I now stand, shame-faced on the virtual platform for all the world to see (at least all 5 that will have read this far) the derelict father of these poor Pearls.  No more, no more, I will place the scarlet letter about my neck and with a firm purpose of amendment do my penance.  I must, if I am to ever be a man who can earn his bread with the sweat of his brow in the thorns and thistles of this cursed ground.  With God's good grace, this blog will bear witness to the sincerity of my resolve.

The Maiden Voyage

I am a covert farmer.  This is an odd statement for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which is that at the moment, I am farming nothing.  Added to that is the obvious fact that one cannot operate covertly and at the same time publish his doings for all the world to see.

So then why the pretentious assertion?  I will soon be trying my hand at making a living as a farmer, but I don't want anyone to know it...yet.  Right now, I am a gainfully employed father of five, living a pretty darn good life. I go to work at a place where I am valued and I come home to a loving wife and children.  A paycheck is automatically deposited into my bank account twice a month. There is a surplus left over after paying all of our expenses to do things like eat out or go to the movies (or buy a gun ;).  I work for a school, so I have almost every weekend off and most of the summer months.  My health insurance is payed for and I am eligible for "free" money to continue my education.  If I opt to go the route of some of my colleagues, I could potentially have the letters P-H and D chiseled after my name on a gravestone one day.

Small-scale farmers, on the other hand, don't get the weekends off. The cow doesn't care if your grandpa died or Jesus was born, it still has to be milked.  One's income is dictated by the unfettered market (in theory anyways), and a bumper crop doesn't necessarily mean that there will be a fat wad of cash sitting in the bank.  In fact, take a check from the wrong person and you might be out inventory, labor and cash.  Health insurance is having extra bottles of Advil in the house.  And as for going to town to catch a movie, according to the Godfather of sustainable farmers, Joel Salatin, you're better off watching the mating rituals of your poultry.

And my crazy ass wants to trade the first choice for the second!  Yeah, I'd better keep this one to myself, at least for a while, unless I want my mother-in-law to come cash in my life insurance plan early for her daughter.  This blog, dear reader, may well be the virtual equivalent of watching a car crash happen in slow motion before your very eyes.  Or it might be a record of God's providence as He continues to take care of idiots, drunkards, children and the United States.  Time will tell.