Not Actually All That Wise

With the family away this weekend, I took to the stack of long-neglected sawlogs with a vengeance. I really like sawing lumber; there is something uniquely rewarding about pulling a fresh 2 x6 off the bed of the mill, the wood fibers damp and slightly furry-feeling, the sweet smell of fresh cut balsam mingling with the acrid exhaust of the sawmill motor. I’m guessing I sawed about 1500 board feet over the past couple of days, which is hardly anyone’s idea of a Herculean feat, I’ll admit. Then again, I was also milking two cows, tending to the sheep, pigs, and chickens, making butter and bread, weeding and mulching the bare earth from which the onions had recently been extracted, and feeding my lonely, sorry self, a task that consisted primarily of gnawing on hunks of half-cooked meat whilst leaning against the kitchen counter between chores, the same greasy fry pan serving as both cooking vessel and plate for all four days. Boys will be boys and all that.

One of my weekend tasks involved moving the pigs from where we’d been training them to electric fence into the wooded area that will be their home for the remaining three or four months of their earth-bound days. It just so happened that the most direct route from their training area to the woodlot routed them directly past the sawmill and through the large pile of saw dust that’s accrued on the backside of the mill. And so I had the distinctly rural pleasure of watching the pigs snuffle and snort in the sawdust even as the mill showered them with more dust with every pass of the toothy blade.

It was one of those experiences that somehow crystallizes the richness of this life in a way that defies logic and maybe even language: To transform logs into lumber while pigs romp joyously in the accumulated woody dander. I’d’ve thought they’d be scared of the mill’s snarl, but they seemed oblivious to the commotion and went about their important business as I went about mine. I suspect they were not nearly as comforted by my companionship as I was by theirs, but I allowed myself the luxury of pretending otherwise and this made me miss my family just a small bit less.

•     •     •

I’ve mentioned this briefly before, but I’m struggling a bit with how to accommodate the volume of inquiries and general correspondence pertaining to all the recent media exposure. I have tried to respond to most questions, but I have also missed some. In general, I find it much easier to respond to very specific questions (“what was the first knife you bought your sons?”) than more general questions (“how do I start unschooling my kids?”).

I guess I need to back up a bit. Basically, there are two ways I make my living. The first is by writing – I am, for lack of a better term, a working class writer, which is to say, writing is the primary means by which I support my family financially. Writing is not a lucrative business, at least not at my end of the spectrum, and the recent flurry of attention has done nothing to change that. This is not a lament, by the way. It’s just the truth.

The secondary means (though it many ways, it’s not secondary at all) of supporting my family is figuring out how to do for ourselves that which we would otherwise pay others to do for us. Hence growing the overwhelming majority of our food. Hence sawing our own lumber, which we’ll use to build our own structures. Hence helping Martha and Lynn put up their hay in exchange for cut rate pricing on our hay. Hence a hundred-and-one other things that enable us to live as we do.

Regarding all the recent inquiries, my central challenge is this: How do I respond to them all while still doing the work necessary to supporting our lives on this land? Because honestly, I just can’t afford to. If I said “yes” to all the requests for homestead tours alone, there’d be nothing worth touring because I’d spend all my time giving tours rather than actually doing the work that makes it into something people want to see in the first place.

If you look in the left-hand margin of this page, you’ll see that I’ve added a consulting page. Frankly, “consulting” feels a little formal to me, but I’m not sure what else to call it. Conversing? Gabbing? Shootin’ the shit? Whatever. I guess it’s all the same: An imperfect way to address the challenge outlined above.

The truth is, it’s really hard for me to think about charging to answer people’s questions, in part because I’m not at all certain I have the answers they’re seeking, and in part because I’d rather just do it for free. But I can no longer ignore the fact that I can’t afford to just do it for free. I can’t ignore the fact that we’ve spent the past two decades of our lives schooling ourselves in all the things you can’t learn in school (or in most schools, at least). In a sense, whatever experience and knowledge we’ve gleaned working this land is our stock in trade.

Here’s what I’m thinking: I would like to humbly offer these shit shootin’ services by donation. This seems the most honest way to me, though I realize it might put prospective clients (shit shootin’ partners?) in a tough spot. What if I don’t give enough and he’s offended? What if I give too much and appear a fool? What if his so-called advice is so damn worthless I feel compelled to charge him for my time? And so on.

So maybe it won’t work. Maybe I should settle on an hourly rate ($500 sounds about right to me). Maybe I should gussy up this site and write up some sort of resume with a bunch of big words that makes it sound like we know more than we actually do. No doubt conventional wisdom would suggest I not jokingly refer to prospective clients as “shit shootin’ partners.”

Then again, the older I get, the closer I come to accepting that while conventional wisdom might indeed be conventional, it is not actually all that wise.

By the way, please, please don’t let this dissuade you from sending emails or asking brief, specific questions. I’m offering this for folks who are looking for something more than a simple email exchange can provide. 

Also, if any one has alternative ideas – or personal experience – on how to handle this, I’m all ears. Thank you!