Bound Together

Spalted maple spoon in progress

January 15. Six-below. The light comes noticeably earlier now. I always have the sense at this time of year that winter is too short. I like feeling this way. It helps me appreciate the cold while it’s here, though I know it’s a fleeting appreciation. Come late March or early April, and the inevitable late season arctic front, or the final heavy snow before the first spring rain, my gratitude will have soured. We’ll be down to the last row of firewood, the last stack of hay, the last frayed vestiges of our current delight at the unique beauty of mornings like these: Trees frosted, early sun glinting off branches, the cows and their frozen whiskers.

We had a heifer wander last night, tracing the boot trod path from house to barn back to house again, and even now I like thinking of her out there in the dark, walking that narrow path while we slept. This morning, I found her lying in the barn, waiting to be returned to her kind. I led her into the paddock and walked back to the house. I could feel her hoof prints through the soles of my boots.

 •     •     •

I had an interview last night with a woman who writes a parenting column for the Washington Post. She has at least one school going child, aged seven. She wanted to know how our boys learned to read. She seemed surprised that they learned without being told they must. Without being told how and when they must. She seemed surprised that they enjoy reading so much. Speaking of her own child, she said I keep asking the teacher when the love of reading will come.

It’s hard to love something you’re forced to do, I said.

Actually, I didn’t. But I sort of wish I had.

•    •    •

Thank you for your feedback relating to yesterday’s post. Something I failed to mention is that it won’t actually be us doing the majority of the teaching; our desire is primarily to act as the catalyst, to create a gathering space that facilitates the sharing of these skills, so many of which can be better demonstrated by others. Certainly, we’ll lead some classes, but as I wrote in The Nourishing Homestead, if we specialize in anything, it’s in being generalists, not specialists. Fortunately, we have a fair number of incredibly talented friends who are excited for the opportunity to share what they’ve learned. In many cases, what they’ve dedicated their lives to learning.

The non-profit vs for-profit structure is a conundrum, for sure. My experience with non-profits – both as a long-serving board member and as friend to many who have headed non-profits – suggests to me that we are not well suited to the bureaucratic and structural constraints they impose.

On the other hand, I acknowledge their might be a perception problem with declaring ourselves a for-profit business, which in short is that we’re in this to grow the business and make a bunch of dough. Nothing could be further from the truth; while we are adamant about instructors being justly compensated for their time and experience, and while we will have to earn something to cover the basic costs of overhead and time invested, we do not view this as a profit generating venture.

Anyway. I realize that no one can make these decisions for us, but I do appreciate hearing others’ experience and insights.

•     •     •

Finally, a quick word about the “ironic bind” of encouraging people to go out and buy something, even as I extol frugality. There is, of course, some truth to this. I think most of us who endeavor to thrive on our own terms are thus bound to some degree or another by an economy that depends on us not thriving on our own terms. Indeed, this is one of our primary motivations for launching Lazy Mill Living Arts in the first place: To cultivate the skills necessary for becoming less bound.

That said I admittedly feel a bit defensive when someone points to my own ironic bind, and particularly when it’s someone who reads this space regularly. I put a lot of time into this blog and I demand nothing in return. I am able to do so only because enough (and just enough) people find value in my work and are furthermore in a position to place a number on that value. They are, in effect, paying the way for those who cannot or simply will not compensate me, either via donation or buying my books. My guess is that most of them are happy to do so.

I guess what I’m saying is this: Yes, I recognize the ironic bind (or is it a hypocritical bind?) inherent to selling my work. Maybe even to raising money for a community-based project like LMLA. I feel this bind. But to those who read my work for free (and don’t get me wrong, I encourage you to keep doing so), I caution you against becoming blind to your own ironic binds, including the fact that others are paying to ensure this space remains free for you.

Still, I think the ultimate solution lies in all of us looking beyond our personal ironic binds – acknowledging them, yes, but not dwelling on them and certainly not (as I have done here) wasting precious time and energy defending them  – and simply rolling up our sleeves to do what we can do to lessen their grip on us all. Because for better or for worse, like it or not, we’re all bound together.

Thank you.