adieu
I havent’t written more than a few words in the last several weeks, for reasons which will now come to fore:
writer’s block.
but not the head punching kind, the frustrating kind, or even the hard-ending kind—writer’s block of a different breed: a self imposed vice grip, mental handcuffs--to my voice, mineself. the odd and sometimes intrusive habit of living life publically on the interwebs, inevitably creates situations where real life isn’t public life.
I’ll cut to the punch line. Friday, july eigth—this Friday—that’s it. the last harvest. her and I are leaving athens--that’s all she wrote.
we have both seized an exciting new opportunity, but are not yet ready to reveal the details publicly. in broad strokes, it can be known that it is exactly as it should be, completely on track with our short term and long terms goals in both agriculture as well as hospitality, and has potential to be one of the defining decisions in our life time—much like the one that led us to Athens in the first place.
but, how can I write a “goodbye athens’ letter when I’m not yet ready to say goodbye?
time. time has become a difficult thing to keep track of. I look back at my first post in georgia, written February second, two thousand ten, and I remember the feeling of walking through that doorway. newyork:to:georgia. wall st:to:farm. up:down, north:south, old:new, city:country, then, and now. I can see it, like a Hollywood flashback—even the colors seem off--I look different. I’m unsure.
and now, a mere year and a half later, not only am I farming, but I’ve been doing it my whole life. the distilled blood of many lifetimes courses through my veins and drives me to farm—drives me to the land. like a tribal drum beat, or a bird flying south, some things are just a part of you. my soul has taken many men and many women through many fields before landing me on this here one in georgia—it’s only I, jared in this skin, who’s doing it for the very first time. been here a year and a half? that’s phoeey. you betta’ check yo’ watch.
I leave athens proud, and eager for the next chapter. I leave having connected with dozens of brilliant, and creative, and resourceful people in a myriad of fields. I leave having represented my nation, as a farmer, at slow food’s biannual international conference—terra madre—in torino, Italia. I’ve sprinted after escapee cows through suburban neighborhoods, I’ve bottle fed orphaned piglets, I’ve slaughtered hundreds of chickens, I’ve delivered thousands of pounds of vegetables, I have a freezer full of animals I raised myself, I’ve built fences and shelters, I’ve torn down fences and shelters, I’ve purchased livestock at auction. I’ve watched a mother pig die, and her piglets starve, as she couldn’t hang on in the extreme georgia heat.
i know the fields and the dinner plate as intimately as the slaughterhouse. i bear witness to fully sustainable, tightly looped, local food systems that nourish land and community. I’m educated, and invigorated.
I’m a farmer. I grow food, and I tell stories.
remember to eat real food, and enjoy yourself.
with love, from the fields,
jared
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