Saving More for Ourselves

Anyone reading this is old enough to know that you learn lessons when you're ready to. It's not when someone forewarns you about the pitfalls of life, the ones that they slipped into when they were "your age". The forest for the trees talk often falls on deaf ears. It's when you are open to receiving a message that it's delivered. Sometimes the hard way is the only way. I know it was the route we took to learn to save more for ourselves.

A business partner of ours, and a bright light in our lives, gave me advice the first time we met each other, which I refuted like the arrogant, self-assured, young entrepreneur I was at the start. While agreeing to carry our produce in her store, she suggested that we keep the best of the harvest for our family before filling wholesale and retail orders. Firstly, I was touched by how uniquely supportive this produce buyer was of her local farmers. Secondly, I internally dismissed the idea of saving the best for us. We were at the start of what my projections were telling me would be a true grind to get the business on its feet. The best of harvest would go to the consumers, and the farmhouse kitchen would eat up the seconds.

Sacrificial days they were. But sacrifice is implicit in creating anything. We made many as we concurrently birthed a business and a family. Giving the "firsts" to the babes, our children and Foxhole included, and our customers was an investment in relationships built to last. After all, feeding people requires a level of trust and comfort from those on the receiving end. And from the hand that feeds, commitment and devotion too. We were mere strangers to all but the few family and friends who promised to buy our goods from the grocery store shelf or to visit our market booth. We needed to present ourselves to this community who we were asking to justify our business venture AND to bring our food into their homes.

And so I begrudgingly set up an Instagram account for the business, knowing that we live in a time when communication lives in social media. We signed up for three weekly farmers markets, and I succeeded in getting that grocer angel mentioned above to stock our goods on her shelves. I made cold calls at local restaurants we appreciate and I wrote a bit about starting the farm in a local magazine. We were breathing life into the business. Think of blowing up balloons, your vitality waning as you go. And there was that baby May of ours, whose fire we were stoking too. Naturally, all that was left for Rich and I was the seconds.

Or was it? The excitement of manifesting these two dreams of ours was rewarding. The risk of burning too brightly to0 fast is high when you so enjoy the nature of your work. I was exhilerated by connecting with people through the farm, my social butterfly well-fed. The tangibility of cultivating vegetables and bringing in harvest, and the hormonal-and-beyond joy of mothering May lit me up. That exhileration paired with the adrenaline that parents of infants run on were fuel for us. But we were lost in the forest seeing the trees. We were on edge and felt we were in survival mode, which is a state in which you can hardly take stock of what you have.

I do think we were right about the reality of the small business world within the modern economic climate. In fact, we have commiserated with various other small business owners about that wild leap you take when jumping into your venture, and the ensuing hustle to get it up and running. The self-sacrifice that fledgling businesses suckle from actually enhances the sweetness of coming out on the other side.

The other side of the hump that is...if you get to it. And if you are loony enough to honestly pursue a business idea with sound heart and rather sound mind, you likely will, because I can attest that there is a fire that burns within you capable of great things. Once it starts to breath on its own, a viable, resilient baby of a business, it's time to say "we can enjoy some more of the firsts". And it's also the time for my angel friend to say "I told you so".

Having popped up our tent in three different neighborhoods in the Dayton area for years, we realized that we had enough traction that we could do all of our business at one weekly market. We may have lost some customers who couldn't make it to Oakwood on Saturdays, but the traffic has only picked up at this weekly market thanks to a collective effort of awesome vendors committing to bringing their best and great organic growth of our business. Dropping those other two weekly markets refilled our cups...which had gotten down to the dregs.

Time being our most limited resource, I tend to become resentful of anything that eats it up. So far I haven't succeeded in making more time. I find myself falling further out of touch with those in my life as my hands are busy while the sun is up. I don't make enough time for pause. Thank God for the toads that cross my path, or the Sturgeon moon that surprised me when I stepped outside the other night to pull me out of my to-do mode and into my wonder mode. They are my reminders to pause no matter what. And I want more of that presence and less of the feverish rat-race, plugged-in existence pervasive in our culture. If that wasn't one of the biggest reasons that inspired Rich and I to start the farm!

Whatever threatens to consume more time, which doesn't ultimately add to our cups, or isn't a necessary sacrifice should be shed. When Rich and I swapped out our dumb phones for smart phones (also done begrugingly), suddenly there was the ability to be on the internet at any time. To be more than here at any time. To read about the problems of the world at any time. To be advertised to at any time. To be distracted and removed from your reality at any time. They're little buggers they are...I dread the day that May and Jack are saddled with carrying them. Like anything else, its not black and white. I adore the catalog of history we've charted with cameras. I love identifying a newfound beetle with the lens function. But I the when my phone is in the barn while I'm out in the field, all my senses are plugged in to my real life here. The one we worked hard to carve out and now can enjoy. The times I misplace my phone or leave it to charge out of earshot, I spend unadulterated time with our kids, not even to be extracted from the moment by taking a photo or a video...just to experience it.

There are paradigms in this life experience and it isn't until the shock of stumbling upon one other than the one you're in, that you realize you can reimagine your lifestyle or get more out of life than what is sold to you. Realizing that I had been plugged into the world as portrayed to me on different media outlets, I decided to recalibrate and exist in my real life here, not in the interpretation of the world digitally. I decided to delete Instagram, realizing the cons of using social media outweigh the pros for me, and also realizing that I fulfilled my goal of getting the word out about our farm. When May asked what I was doing on my phone last week, I said I was writing a long-winded goodbye post on Instragram because I was getting rid of it. A "yay!" slipped out, her train of thought rolling right into the room before she made wide eyes as if she had put her foot in her mouth. She hadn't. She had voiced the same joy I felt in making the decision and shedding a little leech on my time and on my quality of life. I'm in control here and as much as I measure time spent on my phone, it still takes more than I want to give it.

I'm saving more of my time for May and me, for moments when I take a second not to do anything at all, resisting the tick to check my phone. For more thoughtful storytelling and picture sharing here, rather than on the overwhelming social media platform. As much as I'll miss what I think of as the connective tissue element to social media, I connect with folks at market and through this writing and all about town on my delivery route and over email and when I'm not checking my phone I connect with the stranger waiting next to me in line. And this chug-a-luggin Foxhole has enough traction that we are connected here in our community, engaging more people through market or word of mouth all the time.

The forest is incredible! It's a matter of time before I get lost in the trees again. I just know that the kids' return to school or the geese flying their v's southbound will remind me to climb my way back to the top of the canopy to get the whole picture again.

Thank you for reading.

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