Tomorrow

It's 6:55pm and I still have a list of to-do's a mile long....

In exactly 12 hours, we'll be receiving our first batch of 100 heritage breed chickens to slaughter under State inspection.  I've been working for the last 2 years towards this day.  I've begged, borrowed and bled to get to this point, and I'm not exactly looking forward to it.

The work is something I've been doing for a while, illegally, I'm told.  It's messy, bloody and smelly, but the work doesn't scare me.  My crew of two helpers have been helping me for at least a year, and I'm confident in their proficiency and skill.  The crew doesn't worry me.  The tools are all sound and in good repair.  I've maintained them, sharpened them, scoured them, and sanitized them, they will get the job done.  Food borne illness?  Nope, we use good practices and the birds will go from sentient creatures to ice cold food ready for the fryer in a matter of minutes.

What is it then?  Why have I woken up from a fitful sleep at three in the morning, off and on for months?  I've done everything to prepare, I built the building to quality standards, I bought quality equipment, I'm working with quality people and producing a quality product.

I'm scared of the power of the State.

I can control or mitigate almost every other factor, but the State can take all of my work, all of my preparation and all of my efforts and by bureaucratic fiat, bring it to nothing in a moment.  That's what worries me.

When we embarked on this whole farming adventure, the State was not really a factor in our plans.  It has inserted itself with alarming frequency and vigor at various points along the way, though, and it always sets wrong with me.

Leave me the hell alone!  That's how I really feel.  That's what I really want to say to the man who will show up at my butcher shop tomorrow.  I can't though, not if I want to run a legitimate operation and feed people legally and make a living for my family.  That sits wrong with me too, and so I'm sitting here not looking forward to tomorrow. Thanks a lot Upton Sinclair.

Oh well, turn it over to our Lord and our Lady and drive on.