There's always a before

Next time Ill stick to writing about farm chores, but in the meantime here's to a little philospohy and a peek into life in my head. 

Any given moment has a before and an after. The before is always described with words like anticipation, ignorance, excitement, expectations and unaware to name a few. The after is then associated with descriptions like proud, upset, thrilled, angry or perhaps more specific terms like letdown, accomplishment, disbelief or proud. For every moment the before and after are significant parts of a process, usually a learning one, and of course always one that defines and shapes us for who we are.

Right now I’m in the before. Before a phone call actually. One that is particularly odd in that it’s a phone call that is exciting and promising, I’d even go as far as to say thrilling for me, yet just an everyday business type of call for the person on the other line. What’s stranger still is how I play out all the "after" scenarios and fill my head with many outcomes of how this call might play out and what can come of it afterwards (both good and bland -luckily no bad possibilities here, its like extra credit I suppose). 

There are other before's such as “before pictures."  In this before photo of my dining room its all about the vision, what can I make this place become and what do I want it to look like? I love the fact that the house is over eighty years old, because then I get to ask the other questions like what was it like before this? What were some of the conversations here seventy years ago? Who has sat here around a table, and what dinners were had or what stories were shared around a game of cards some fifty odd years ago?   But with out a before, there is nothing to compare too, nothing to measure progress and advancement.  However with the before above, I can compare my restoration project and see how far along it came. 

There is a dichotomy presented with the existence of a before, meaning with it, comes an after. In the case of the dining room remodel, the after is easy. You can clearly see the after in the photo above. 

Another example of a clear before and after is, well, like with the lambs. The before, where a few lambs were in the barn for a last night, thriving, existing, eating and sleeping. The after, a bit more grim I suppose, is the part of farming I’m still becoming accustomed too. Where after is a trip home from the butcher, no longer lambs in the back of the truck like earlier that morning, but instead the promise of food for a table and for familes to gather.   A before with life, and an after without. The before will always stand out to me, truck lights across the paddock at 6am loading up the lambs; and then backing the truck up to the curved white plywood wall, where thousands of animals have been unloaded previous to us arriving.  All necessary moments and a necessary part of life, yet still before moments that leave me feeling awkward. At this point anyway.  Its been an interesting week for me, being responsible for the end of the same lambs I was responsible for starting.

I think of remodels with the before and afters, I think of all the ideas and concepts and situations I play out in my head during the befores and anticipation and then of course the after where I compare notes to see what worked and what didn’t. Even still, what about the before moments where we are blindsided?  You weren’t expecting the moment, but for some reason we still remember exactly where we were, or what we were doing just before it occurred; the recent anniversary of September 11th is the example that comes to mind.  Moments are so important and so influential to us as humans, we must create a before and after to bookmark the particular moment, in an effort to monumentalize the significance of it.

I processed all this thinking, and I realized (again) I thrive more on the before compared to the after. I like (and hate at the same time) the unknown. I can make it, define it or create it as big as I want it to be. With a before there isn't a right answer.  It’s the before, before there is definition of what it actually becomes, that makes me feel responsible for what comes next. This explains why most of the time I’m onto the next project before I even finish the current one. What's so great about a completed project, I’m always thinking of the next thing I can do, build, create, or become.

Student, Landscaper, Teacher, Builder, Renovator, Farmer. It’s easy to reflect back and see what I have already become, ‘cause it’s the after people- get it? But it is so much more exciting to anticipate what’s next and what I want to evolve into!

Not all before’s are great; some moments lead to a let down. But the funny thing is, it’s all about perspective. Because rather than look at it as a before that led to a letdown, just look at it as a moment that never existed at all. A moment yet to occur if you will. Leaving us to forget about disappointment, avoiding discouragement and move on. Because with every after, there is soon to be another before.  

It is better to believe than to disbelieve; in doing so you bring everything into the realm of possibility. - Einstein

History Revealed

Windy Knob hasn't always been the sharp dressed wool raisin' farm that it is today.  Shocking I know, but a lot of work has gone into restoring it and helping the farm to puff its' chest out and be proud of the character and quality that has stood here on site for almost 100 years (barn 1912).  The sheep of course haven't been restored, they are just plain new.  Windy Knob Farms was Windy Knob Orchards for most of its existence, under the direction of the Wick family with master minds Frank and Doris.  You can read more history on our website to learn more about it, but I wanted to share with ya'll this image I saw the other morning.  While pouring my morning cup of coffee, I perused the pastures from the kitchen window only to see the shadow of the lone sweet cherry tree casted up onto the barn.  And there it was.  A moment to stop and reflect on what was, and what has become.  The farms way of telling me, yeah you've shinned me up good but don't ever forget I've been around a lot longer than you.  I was humbled and proud all at the same time; realizing how much work has been done to these grounds long before I was even born.  It's like showing up at the end of a project and tucking your thumbs in your beltloop and boasting "Yup. I'll take it from here."  No.  The vision was made, and I've worked hard to keep that image; not changing it, not making it better, just dusting it off so to say.  It was a serene moment with the sun rising up over Grand Traverse Bay, and the cherry tree stretching to catch as much of the morning sun rays it possibly could, leaving its' tall shadow down the gentle dewey hill, across the driveway and up onto the barn wall.  Enough to make me stop and appreciate everything thats special about this place. 

But get this.

Its even better.

So after a long day of haying (hay-ing: usually occurs on the hottest days of summer, loading 40 pound bales of hay into a truck bed using Tetris like strategies, followed by unloading said bales up to an even higher loft in which case space is of the essence and must be strategically stacked), we gathered in the doorway of the barn.  The tall double barn doors were shifted down, opening the door way to its fullest extent.  It was midday, so all the light in the world filled every usually dark nook in the barn.  When you first walk into the barn, you tend to look up.  And in looking up, you'll see the massive beech tree trunks that have served as the loft supports for the previous, I don't know, 80 years I'll guess.  In this loft, is a pile of old wood.  Its like the Home Depot clearence section; anything left over after projects for the past 80 years ends up thrown into this storage loft.  

But as we stood there, one of us noticed a piece of the scrap pile that seemed to have a color.  And the gap between the Beech tree, was in the perfect position (and now exposed by that generous sunlight pouring in) to expose a letter.  A letter that looked like a K.  On the other side of that massive support trunk, you could follow this scrap piece of a wood, and see another letter.  Well by now the three of us are basically standing on our heads trying to turn upside down to read what seems to be some sort of sign.  Dan jumped up in the loft and began to frantically chuck wood, in an effort to get to the bottom of the pile.  However, from the top of the pile, you don't get the benefit of the massive sun rays.  Instead Dan was working with the dark, the cobwebs, a few wasps and the bats that live up there.  So I shouted from below, directing him to the left, no not that piece, the other one, now move that, throw that one aside, yeah! That one.  Pull it out. 

As Dan dropped it down, I was able to read the K, followed by the N,  and an O...  It was the original Windy Knob sign.  This barn protected sign, painted in a forest green and creamy yellow lead paint, had sat in this storage pile for God know's how long.  It was such a reward.  I mean it too. I'm smiling just typing this, because its like a treasure to find this sense of belonging, original character that can't be made or created.  Its the original Windy Knob sign for Pete's sake!  And now it sits, with all of its farm freshness in the new Dining Room.  What's old is new again.  

Leaving the nest...err I mean farm.

I will not even begin to say it's the same. What I am saying is, for me, I imagine it must be a little something like this.  You watch them born and find a part of you instantly connected, sometimes even assisting in the delivery.  Shoot. I even bottled fed one for a week.  And through the spring, into summer, they grow and grow.  And eat.  And grow.  I digress, but anyway, you work to raise these great specimens of sheep for a purpose.  As I am able to accomplish just that, people want them.  That is what is supposed to occur.  The goal is to sell them.  But the day comes where visitors ogle over of which ones they like.  And you watch the would be buyers, and reminisce about the excitement you too had when you were picking out your own starter flock.  Soon you're loading up sheep into a trailer and the smells and sounds all start coming back to you.  While you watch the trailer close up, you hear their final few bah's, recognizing each call and placing the face you saw out on pasture all summer with its individual unique sound.  These same sheep that are now leaving your farm are the ones you intended through intentional breeding, watched stand for the first time, introduced to pasture, trimmed their tiny hooves and sometimes even petted and said hello too.  This is now the business side of raising livestock.  

I can imagine at this point some of you are wondering just where these sheep were headed.  Doherty the one and a half year old "veteran" of the group, Abagail the beautiful Moorit ewe lamb and Ike too, the farm favorite that developed a larger fan base in his 6 months of existence in Northport than I have in over two years here.  Well I'm happy to report that these sheep have a destination of a barn in Wisconsin.  They will continue to be the founding ram, the pretty little girl and the farm jester; it just so happens it will have to be on another farm.  

I feel proud, accomplished, and weird all at the same time.  Perhaps I would have been more cut out for this had I been raised on a farm.  Or maybe even a little 4H in the background.  Tae Kwon Do and little league never covered animal behaviors nor prepared me for the psychology of raising livestock.  And of all the books I've read there wasn't a Ch 12: This is how you will feel.

It's true not all lambs leaving this farm will carry the badge of good enough, but from my side of things its the same regardless.  Despite the destination, they leave here never to return.  I did my job as a farmer, gave them the best life I could and raised them in a sustainable manner.  One farm, one sheep at a time, trying to make our food and our earth just a little better, a little more honest and doing it a little more responsibly.