Fair Trade

Raise your hand if you've heard of "alternative gift giving". Good.

Ok. Raise your hand if you've "bought an animal" from Heifer International for Christmas? Really? That's all? Selfish.

I don't know the history of the alternative gift giving buzz, but it seems to have really taken hold in the past few years, probably in response to the Christmas commercial buzz. You know, instead of joining the Tickle-Me-Elmo herds on Black Friday, you give money to a non-profit and help a needy family for Christmas and get a few star stickers on your karma chart. It's definitely more in tune with the Baby Jesus spirit that flies around during the season.

This past weekend, we had our own alternative gift market on the farm. The Celebration of Living Gifts we called it. People came to the farm, looked at goats and water buffalo, and symbolically bought animals. We raised about $6,700 in animal gifts.

It's a happy thing for the world that alternative gifts are becoming popular. Heifer definitely benefits from the alternative gift rage (the majority of your fundraising occurs between November and December).

However, this Christmas season, I had a bit of a dilemma, as I stood in the Overlook gift shop, wondering what to buy. Ought I buy a few symbolic animals for my family? Support Heifer and give everyone little cards that read, "You bought a goat!" Or, ought I buy Fair Trade gifts? Giving to non-profits and charities is great. But, truth be told, Fair Trade has a more direct impact (http://www.fairtradefederation.org/). The money for a goat share goes through Heifer, then to a country project in, say, China, and finally to buying a goat or bees or medicine. But, if you buy, for example, a Fair Trade scarf, the majority of that money goes to the person who made the scarf, and, guess what, that person is probably impoverished but picking herself up by building a business. Eventually, if organizations like Heifer are successful, there will be no alternative gifts, just fair trade. Eventually, every needy person should be able to support his or herself without help from non-profits. Buying a lot of Fair Trade helps move everyone in that direction.

I have doubts as to whether that will ever happen, and in the meantime, organizations like Heifer still need support. So, hey, go either way this year. Just make sure you get those gold stars on your karma chart.

Northern Exposure

Holy Hell. I just saw more snow fall in 12 hours than I have ever seen in my life. Something like 10 inches between 4:30 this morning and 10 o'clock this morning. In December. Do you realize how weird this is for me?

Woke up this morning and walked outside to go get coffee, only to be greeted by a world totally covered in snow. I sunk my foot into it, and it swallowed my ankle. Dry powdery snow, untouched by anyone except me. Not being able to control myself, I let forth a really loud, somewhat creepy laugh and started kicking snow everywhere. The whole world has changed. That's what a foot of snow feels like to me right now. Everything is new and different.

Especially doing chores. I had to take a five minute trudge down to Ghana to feed the two buck goats. They were huddled in their waddle shelter (it's plenty spacious. Don't worry), with a pile of snow on the roof, snow everywhere outside their shelter. Their water bowl was frozen over and topped off with another foot of snow. But, by the time I left, they had a pile of fresh, warm hay in their shelter, as well as fresh, not-frozen water, safe from the snowfall. They'll be OK.

Another new experience was shoveling snow. Apparently, you have to do that up here a lot, or else you get veritable Great Walls of Snow that are totally impenetrable. That was exhausting, but probably new enough to still be a good time.

The highlight for my first big snow day has been moving the cows. We figured it might be about time (or way past time) to get those poor ladies out of the pasture. So, we led them 1/4 of a mile through deep snow. Imagine watching a herd of big cows plowing through pure white snow, right towards you. It's majestic/scary. But, once again, they are now well taken care of. Now, sitting in front of a fire. People are making pumpkin stew, and my clothes are in the dryer. Sa-weet.

Morning Chores

Every morning on the farm kicks off with chores. By now, it has settled into my daily routine. I barely notice it anymore. But, really, it's pretty bizarre and entertaining on most mornings. Thought I'd share a glimpse into my world every morning.

8:15 a.m., random morning: I am by the red barn with two paint buckets, filling them up the water to give to the buck goats and rams who have, once again, knocked over their water/polluted it with something ungodly. Across the way, a few volunteers are milling out of the hay barn, aka: chore central, grabbing wheel barrows, throwing hay into them, swinging buckets of feed. Two little dwarf goats named Ren and Stimpy run by, because they never stay in their pen, chasing Maggie with a bucket of swine grain. In a few minutes, Maggie will be trying to water the pigs and simultaneously throwing Ren and Stimpy out of the feed bucket over and over again. Those two live off of every other animal's food.

Off down the dirt path, Nic is pulling Henry, our spastic buck goat, on a leash, because Henry has escaped from his pen for the second time that morning. In a few minutes, Henry will escape again. Ashley rambles by on the big tractor, earphones in place, happily nodding her head to music, on her way to move the cows' water. Jen comes around the corner of the barn, leading Abu, our giant camel, on a leash. He's being slightly obedient, which is better than most days, but making very deep grumbling sounds that surface as camel burps. Pretty soon, he will lie down and refuse to get up for five minutes.

Behind me, Sarah is happily bottle feeding Imou, our Randall Lineback calf. Out in the sack pad, Jason is surrounded by some sixty goats and sheep, who are all desperately trying to swallow the 50 lb. bag of sheep grain that he is attempting to open and put in the feeders, which would be easy to do if Artemis, a black goat, weren't punching her front legs into his stomach trying to get the feed. In a few minutes, Evander, our massive pony-sized ram, is going to butt me in the leg while I'm trying to retrieve his feed bucket. It is going to hurt like hell, and I'll have a bruise for weeks. After that, I am going to meet up with some of my fellow volunteers next to the coffee maker and badmouth Evander over a leisurely cup of coffee. Chores are over. It will be time to start the process all over again at 4:00.

Ok, not every morning is this crazy. Just most of them.

Thanksgiving

You know what is good in small doses? Doing nothing. Or as close to nothing as possible. I went to visit Robert and Molly in Boston for Thanksgiving. For three days, I sat in their comfortable living room, happy to play video games with Robert, or watch movies, or spend time with Molly in the kitchen cooking delicious food. The busy world outside passing by, while time within the cozy apartment stood still, or ceased to exist. I hatched no master plans, did no scheming about my future, did no dwelling on things beyond my contentment. I don't think a single important thought registered in my brain. Isn't that great to do from time to time? Settle in, relinquish all worry and control, and just exist. When that happens, a day can be like a lifetime, unchanging and unwavering, far beyond time's touch. Despite the fact that I am back on the farm and back in the ebb and flow of work and bustle, I like to think that part of me is still sitting on Molly and Robert's couch, passing the time away with them, or sitting at the kitchen table back at home on Christmas morning, eating scrap biscuits and sharing some obnoxiousness and joviality with the family.

By the way, Molly, Robert, Theo (a friend of Molly's), and I had a badass Thanksgiving dinner. I made pumpkin pie from scratch (my first try at p.pie; didn't turn out too bad), Molly made her first turkey (which was scrumptrulescent), complete with stuffing, cranberry sauce, and gravy, Robert made creamy mashed taters, and Theo made green bean casserole, butternut squash casserole, cole slaw, and pecan pie. I put myself right into a food coma, from which I am still emerging. Who knew Thanksgiving in Boston could be so nice?

Now, the Christmas season has officially begun, and I am too poor to be summoned by the call to shop. Bonus. I will have to be creative with gift giving this Christmas. Until then, time to enjoy some of that cheer and decorating and movie watching. Not to mention Hal's famously hard egg nog.

By the way, we have a few new additions to our farm family. Petunia, our beloved guinea hog, is now being kept company by two more guinea hogs. They are both piglets, and look like little black chicken nuggets scampering to and fro. Happy pig family.

Here's to Christmas season.

Millard Fuller

Here is a quote from Millard Fuller, founder of Habitat for Humanity. It's a good follow up to my last blog.

"What the poor need is not charity, it's capital. They don't need caseworkers, they need co-workers... This whole concept of not giving things away, just giving people opportunity, is designed to preserve the dignity of the recipient. I don't think anybody likes being thought of as a charity case. All human beings need to have a sense of dignity."

-Millard Fuller. He said it better than I did.

White Liberal Bleeding Heart Do-Gooders (WLBHDG's)

Last weekend, Overlook Farm hosted a Heifer University, which is a weekend retreat for Heifer community volunteers. I of course am I Heifer volunteer, but I get paid and live on a learning center, and there are only twenty of me in New England. There are a good deal more community volunteers who contribute their spare time, without monetary compensation, to Heifer's mission. So, Heifer University was a chance for all the Northeastern volunteers to get together and talk shop, share stories, plan for next year. I had the weekend off, so I sat in. Everything was great and very informative. This blog entry, however, is not about Heifer U. It's about white liberal bleeding heart do-gooders.

So, there was this one particular woman at Heifer U that drove me insane. She was the quintessential WLBHDG (see title). With this label, I mean that her contributions to Heifer were motivated solely by guilt and a savior mentality. She talked constantly about how guilty she felt that there were hungry African babies, and she lived so comfortably. Whenever someone mentioned a man who couldn't afford to send his kids to school, she sighed deeply, her sweet heart brimming with pity. How many people have you met like this, honestly? They feel so guilty for living their rich American lives, while there are poor children in Honduras. They pity the poor, who have to do such unspeakable things as live on dirt floors and own only a few articles of clothing. Pity and guilt. What great emotions to operate by.

All I have to say is, living on a dirt floor is not the end of the world, and owning only two sets of pants is not the ultimate form of suffering. It's just a different standard of living. Just because you grew up with four SUV's, and two televisions, and bathrooms and shopping malls, it does not mean that everyone in the world who lives on less is miserable and poor. Guess what? Rural people living in mud brick huts in Thailand can be happy. If they have food, and clean water, access to medicine and education, they can be happy. Are rich people always happy? What makes you happy? Two t-v's and shopping malls? Or is it family and relationships?

I suppose what really gets to me about WLBHDG's is how they label and use "poor people". In their eyes, poor people appear to be this class of person that is perpetually suffering, miserable, weak, and desperately in need of help and sympathy from the rich. So, they can get this high from saving "the poor", meanwhile stripping all impoverished people of their dignity and self-respect. People like this tend to do more harm than good. What classifies a "poor person"? Who are "the poor"? What makes them inherently different from every other human being on earth? Look at "the poor" as people, with a variety of needs and interests and personalities just like everyone else. I don't want pity. I don't want someone whose sacred mission is to save me, because I'm so helpless and downtrodden. Why should the poor be different? I do want someone who cares about me as an individual, who is receptive to my needs, to what I have to say. It seems to me that WLBHDG's only hear what they want to hear, and see what they want to see, when they consider poverty, and "the poor" become some sort of midlife crisis that can give meaning to their lives. "Visualizing hungry people as so oppressed as to be ignorant and immobilized makes us think our responsibility is to go in and set things straight," (12 Myths of World Hunger). My advice is, don't visualize the hungry, poor people at all. Help where help is needed. Do your part. You can help a community in Honduras get on their feet, and provide for themselves, without labeling them "the poor". Who died and made you ruler of the poor? Ok. Rant over.

Why I Don't Play Football

Today, my relationship with sheep, which was not good to begin with, took a downward turn. To put it delicately, I got freaking leveled by a sheep, twice. In my defense, they are stronger than one's eye might deduce.

Once again, we had to wrangle a few sheep away from the herd for breeding. What a miserable task. Once again, several volunteers, trying over and over to corner a bunch of sheep who all think that we are plotting to kill them, or worse. We might as well carry butcher knives and chant Satanic hymns when we wrangle them, the way those stupid sheep react.

So, we cornered them, and the particular sheep we were going for, a big ole' Jacobs, broke for it, just to my right. As I lunged toward her, she took flight. Right into my face. Glasses fly, I'm on the ground, and the sheep is upside down, next to me. She gets up faster than I do.

Second try, we have them in the opposite corner. This time, we do a good job of cornering the whole flock, so that I am able to wade in and grab the sheep before she can wedge away from the rest. I get a nice hold of her wool. She, of course, thinks I am seconds away from throttling her and, I don't know, doing something horrible like casting her sheep soul to eternal sheep hell. She's kicking like hell. I hold her, but we don't have a harness. She calms down momentarily. Someone suggests I just try walking with her. I slacken my grip. BAM. Off she goes, and, somehow, I am on the ground again. Stupid, stupid sheep. No injuries, except my pride. After the second fall, I quietly excused myself from the paddock and went to go nurse my emotional bruises. Sheep: 2, Sam: o.

Funny side note. We were wrangling the sheep in part to inject a few with hormone shots to get them in heat. Well, we found out the hard way that one of those sheep was not a sheep, but a castrated ram. So, some poor ram got a nice estrogen shot surprise. Whoops. At least we didn't put him in the breeding pen.