From the moment I arrived on the farm midday Saturday until Monday morning, taking only the occasional break for water, food, or sleep, I embodied the free spirited, bucket wielding Northeastern Farm Hand. I chucked, I scooped, I shoveled, I milked, I slaved, I sweat, and I suffered. I am exaggerating of course, because how could I call it suffering if I loved every minute of it.
Long View Farm, built in 1914: Home to 24 chickens, 3 goats, a 5000 square foot garden, and my parents. When visiting them I can always count on 3 things: homemade organic meals that will fill your innards so completely you'll feel like a heavily inflated Reebok Pump, backbreaking farmwork, and a TV so small you might as well retreat to the corner and watch the show on your iPhone. This all might sound like complaining so far, but as I said earlier, I love every minute of it. Let me walk you through Saturday:
6:00am - wake up, no need for showering, step outside and notice a cord of firewood has been delivered the previous night.
6:30-9:30am - a cord of firewood is nothing to scoff about, especially when it needs to be transported down into the basement.
9:30-10:00am - gather the chicken eggs (there were 7 of them), go inside and fry those babies up for breakfast.
10:30am-1:30pm - clean chicken coop. Shoveled at least 6 inches of shit from the coop floor and adding new shavings.
1:45-2:00pm - chicken sandwiches for lunch. NOT the same chickens that laid the eggs.
2:15-4:15pm - it is only fair now to clean the goats stalls. Similar process to chicken coop except the shit smells much worse.
4:30-5:00pm - now I can shower with a bucket in the outhouse! I'm kidding, we have a shower.
5:15pm-8:00pm (if i can make it that long) - dinner and a movie by the fire, usually falling asleep on the couch halfway through.
So, returning to the definition above, "labor" is right on target as my muscles are sore days later writing this, and "hired", which implies payment, is sufficed twofold by spending time with my wonderful family on 72 acres of beauty.
Long View Farm, built in 1914: Home to 24 chickens, 3 goats, a 5000 square foot garden, and my parents. When visiting them I can always count on 3 things: homemade organic meals that will fill your innards so completely you'll feel like a heavily inflated Reebok Pump, backbreaking farmwork, and a TV so small you might as well retreat to the corner and watch the show on your iPhone. This all might sound like complaining so far, but as I said earlier, I love every minute of it. Let me walk you through Saturday:
6:00am - wake up, no need for showering, step outside and notice a cord of firewood has been delivered the previous night.
6:30-9:30am - a cord of firewood is nothing to scoff about, especially when it needs to be transported down into the basement.
9:30-10:00am - gather the chicken eggs (there were 7 of them), go inside and fry those babies up for breakfast.
10:30am-1:30pm - clean chicken coop. Shoveled at least 6 inches of shit from the coop floor and adding new shavings.
1:45-2:00pm - chicken sandwiches for lunch. NOT the same chickens that laid the eggs.
2:15-4:15pm - it is only fair now to clean the goats stalls. Similar process to chicken coop except the shit smells much worse.
4:30-5:00pm - now I can shower with a bucket in the outhouse! I'm kidding, we have a shower.
5:15pm-8:00pm (if i can make it that long) - dinner and a movie by the fire, usually falling asleep on the couch halfway through.
So, returning to the definition above, "labor" is right on target as my muscles are sore days later writing this, and "hired", which implies payment, is sufficed twofold by spending time with my wonderful family on 72 acres of beauty.
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