As I write this, it feels like hundreds of ants are biting my arms and legs. I have a grass allergy, and prolonged exposure results in itching and small bumps appearing on my skin. It's been this way my whole life. When I was a child I loved playing outdoors with my friends. We spent countless afternoons wrestling in the grass and hiking through the forest. This led to countless nights when I complained to my mother, "It feels like my skin is on fire!" She responded by covering me head-to-toe in pink, chamomile lotion to stop the itching. My siblings would joke that I looked like an alien. We'd all have a good laugh. And then I'd go back outside the next day to roll around in the grass. Now that I'm a man, I realize my childhood suffering was 100% avoidable. I could have played games that involved pavement instead of grass. I could have explored the local mall instead of the forest. But as I think of all the fun I had traipsing through the mud with my
No one ever talks about the connection between homesteading and crisis management. If one goes to Instagram and searches for #homesteadlife or #hobbyfarm, they'll be greeted with pictures of happy chickens, well-groomed garden beds, and barns that look like they came from a magazine. The message is that growing food and caring for animals is a lazy, carefree way to spend one's life. You can collect eggs in the morning, do yoga in the afternoon, and pose for pictures with your goats without the specters of stress, fear, or worry ever darkening your door. Dear reader, this is a lie from the darkest corner of Avici hell. The process of living on the land is the process of dealing with catastrophe. In this year alone my rabbits were infected with ear mites, aphids attacked my fruit trees, several garden beds succumbed to pill bug infestations, and my state is experiencing a drought. So much suffering, so little time. But in the midst of all that struggle, there's one inesca