Fermented This and Fermented That

Rise n’ shine

I think sometimes folks get the mistaken impression that we live entirely off the bounty of the land (gee, wonder where they mighta cottoned to that idea). Or they think that just because on the cover of one of my books I claimed to have quit worrying about money, we actually don’t worry about money (really? You believed me?!?). Or they figure we’re milking the trust fund teat for all she’s worth (someone actually accused me of this recently, and then refused to believe me when I told her it wasn’t true, and I just sorta shrugged my shoulders because what, really, are you going to do with that scenario?).

Anyhow. Truth is, we spend plenty of dough. Pretty much everything we make, as a matter of fact, which generally adds up to somewhere around $3ok annually, although over the past couple of years we have managed to save more of a cushion than we’ve had in goodly while (we’ll probably blow it all this summer, however. You know, on crazy stuff, like putting a roof over our heads). In some regards, I suspect our expenses are a bit different than most folks; in some regards, I suspect they’re probably pretty similar. We don’t budget; I’ve always felt as if budgeting is a colossal waste of time, not to mention being right up there with plucking nose hairs on the fun-o-meter.

Generally speaking, I consider us thrifty, more than frugal. This is because to me, thriftiness speaks of an ethos of respect and perhaps even reverence for what we consume – it is what compels us to catch the blood from the sticking wounds of our pigs, for instance – while frugality is merely about pinching Penny pennies. Admittedly, I haven’t actually researched the official definitions of these words, so take this all with a grain of salt.

Anyhow again. I thought it might be kinda fun to talk a bit about where we spend the bulk of our dough.

Transportation: Because we don’t have a mortgage, this is by far our single biggest expense. We drive a crazy amount. How much, you ask? Honestly, I don’t want to tell you, ‘cause I’ll bleed out every last drop of so-called sustainability cred I might otherwise have accrued over the years. Your notion of me as flowing haired, robe-clad benevolent will go up in same hazy cloud of smoke that bellows from the dual tailpipes of our truck on startup.

Ah, screw it. I wasn’t fooling anyone, anyway: We drive somewhere around 25,000 miles annually, split between the car (about 23k) and the truck (you do the math). Our car is a 2005 Subaru that was gifted to us when Penny’s folks quit driving. It is BY FAR the nicest, most reliable vehicle we’ve owned, though it is old enough to require occasional mechanical interventions and, like all Subarus, it’s a thirsty little bugger: We average about 23mpg, and except when I’m learning the boys how to blow donuts, we go real easy on her.

Our truck is a 1997 Ford F350 Powerstroke. It’s been a real good truck overall, but we are ready to let it go, in large part because Penny is super-sensitive to the sweet nectar of diesel exhaust, and they don’t call these pigs Powersmokes for nothing. Unfortunately, we need a big truck, because we do tow on occasion (hay and tractor), and though we don’t drive the truck much, when we use it, we tend to use it, if you know what I mean. Anyhow, if any of ya’ll have a nice, rust-free ¾ or 1 ton 4wd gas pickup you want to let go for a song, drop a line, eh? Likewise, if any of you are looking for a solid plow rig, and furthermore have a healthy appreciation for diesel fumes, lemme know.

The sum total of all this is that we spend upwards of $3k a year just on fuel for our rigs, plus maybe another $300 in diesel for the tractor. This is ENORMOUSLY frustrating to me, and never mind that maintenance is probably about that much again – for instance, in the past six months, we had to do the head gasket in the ‘ru, deal with some fuel related BS in the truck, fix the front end on the truck, do new brakes on the ‘ru (ouch), and a few other odds and ends. I wish I could say I was mechanically inclined, but alas, I cannot. I’d like to think that if I had some sort of shelter in which to flail around, I might accomplish something of value, but I suspect that’s a pipe dream.

By-the-by, at least half the miles we put on the car are work-related, what with all the driving I do for book events and reporting stories and whatnot. So there’s that.

Food: As I’ve written before, it’s sort of hard to determine how much we actually spend stuffing our faces. I mean, I could add up all the inputs – hay, grain, amendments, and so on – and I could even include depreciation on equipment. But I’d still be faced with trying to put a value on all we get besides food. For instance, last fall I trucked something like 45 yards of compost up to the new land. I don’t really know what a yard of organic compost goes for these days, but I bet it’s north of $60.

So yeah, this is a hard one. I can say that our grocery store spending is real low; most months, not more than $100. But this is dependent on eating habits that most people simply aren’t willing to adopt. With the sole exception of a head of broccoli we bought to put in the soup we made for the spoon carving workshop, we haven’t purchased fresh vegetables all winter. No meat, obviously. No milk, though we’re out of our butter, so we’re onto the boughten stuff until the cows freshen in May. We buy a little flour for the occasional loaf of bread or pancakes, and we buy cheese now and again. Anyway. I’ve been through all this before, so I’ll shut my yap.

Actually, I won’t, because I think this is a real Achilles heel for those who aspire to some version of this life. Truth is, it’s not always easy to eat primarily what we produce, even given the diversity of our little operation. I mean, I’d rip your throat out for fresh greens right now. I ain’t kidding: If you’re sporting fresh greens, you ought just stay clear, ok, ’cause for the past five months or so, it’s been fermented this and fermented that, dried this and dried that, meanwhile rationing out the precious frozen peas and green beans (“son, it’s a very special day: You can have TWO peas!”). Oh, and potatoes and squash sixteen ways to Sunday. And beets. Damn, but I hate me some beets.

This is getting too long. Might have to pick it up another day. If any of you have specific questions, leave them in the comments and I’ll try and get to ‘em.