I didn’t see this coming, but my children are reading this blog. Otto gives me a talkie walkie while I write and waits upstairs for me to talkie walkie in when the post has been submitted. He corrects my spelling and asks me why I’ve verbed a noun. As I do. At this point, I feel a bit odd talking about my brats. I take a picture of Lucy and she says, ” don’t put this on your blog! I’m in a tiara!” I’m not even sure why I write this blog. I often feel like chucking it all in. But my extended family is so far away. The people who buy our beef might want to know what goes on behind the Grasspunk scenes. What happens when the sun is out? What happens when it buckets down rain for weeks and weeks. What do we do?
Everyday is two days. So often Brent and I say, “you know, that was yesterday.” Somedays this is hard. Somedays this is hard and thankfully we have help. Somedays we procrastinate. Somedays we enjoy the sun and chat with friends and watch the kids play. Somedays I take photos of cows giving Lumi a big kiss.
For whatever reason I publish these crazy words, I’ll keep on going shining a light on our life here as grass-fed beef farmers in France. I am slowly answering the question people ask of me, “Why would you do that? Farming is hard.” They only say that because we came from a checkbox ticked. High paying job, no worries. Why would we revert back to government grants and low pay? Why? Why. Because, I suppose, we are feeding people food that is healthy for them. Because we have a set of restrictions and have to creatively make a profit. A challenge. As Brent says, if our beef runs off to McDonalds, at least there are some people out there getting healthy beef.
I can now say that farming is hard. Yes, hard for different people carrying different expectations. Pick your variable: cash flow, bulls, breed, market, weather, feed, kids, bureaucracy ( list not exclusive ). Each aspect providing its own version of hard. Each aspect providing its own version of fun.