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Friday afternoon, right in the heat of the day, I got a text message that said “you should come over if you have a sec. And bring some water.” This had better be good, I thought to myself as I looked out at the hot, dry field, while dutifully filling a bottle and waking the pup from his afternoon nap. I grabbed my camera, hopped in the car and drove out to the middle of the field where my husband was enthusiastically sub-soiling the blueberries. Sub-soiling stirs up the soil to avoid it becoming too compact, but it’s really kind of a freaky process because as the tractor rolls by, the bushes lift up and fall again, like Bugs Bunny is tunneling beneath them. He shoulda taken that left at Albuquerque.

A mid-afternoon invitation from my dude to join him in the field, just because he was doing something cool and wanted to show me. These are the moments where my heart tells me we’re doing something right.

It appears I’ve unofficially and unintentionally taken some time off from this space. I’ve been in kind of a private state of mind and needed some time to process through the pieces of myself I choose to share online. I also just needed some time to get to know myself again. Life has included a great deal of transition in the last year and I realized I just needed to hibernate and figure some shiz out, you know what I mean?

Taylor and I had a conversation the other night about what we do during a day and it occurred to me just how drastically different my life is than it was a year ago. I’ve somehow sashayed my way in to a pretty traditional domestic life, and I’ve needed some time to process that. Especially since I spent so many years looking down on stay-at-home-whatevers, claiming I’d never want to be “stuck” at home like that and vowing to resist the stereotypical gender role that seemed so oppressive. But as we talked, I realize that I’ve not only enjoyed my new daily routine, but have found an incredible amount of joy and freedom in it.

Sure, from the outside looking in I’m keeping house, making beds, folding laundry, buying groceries, doing load after load of dishes, cooking two to three meals a day and taking care of a wildly overgrown yard. I have a garden. I own more than one apron. I put makeup on my face maybe once or twice a week. My social life pretty much consists of Cash and whatever family members happen to drive by in a truck or tractor. From the outside looking in, my life seems pretty simple and maybe even a little dull.

But man, this has been one of the best summers I’ve had in a long time. This may sound a little cheesy, blame it on my romantic nature, but when I’m doing laundry, I’m washing the clothes of the person that I love the most who is currently out working 16+ hour days to provide for our family. When I’m planning the week’s dinners, I’m thinking of the meal times we will share which currently make up the majority of our time together. When I’m dragging a hose around the garden, I’m watering the cucumbers and pears that I’ll can later in the summer, and nourishing the winter squash that will go into soup and pie and chili in autumn. It’s a pretty basic idea, really, but man, anything done with love and joy and care, turns out to be fundamentally satisfying and fulfilling.

I’m not just playing Suzy Homemaker, mind you, though some days I secretly wish I were. Despite my full-time farmer’s wife status, I’ve also been working pretty hard on my business. Catering has been steady and busy and consumed much of my waking (and sleeping) hours throughout the heat of the summer. I’ve been writing monthly columns for the local paper and working on a few other creative projects. Though I’ve taken a break from the blog, I’m taking stock of where I’d like it to go and making plans for the next few month’s content.

Life is somehow simultaneously quiet and full and I wake up every morning with this unquenchable hope in my chest. I’m old enough to know that life comes and goes in seasons, and this season of incredible sweetness probably won’t last forever, so I’m determined to soak up every minute to hold onto in the stormier times. And as I continue to figure things out, you’d better believe you’ll be the first to know.

Life on the Farm: Vol. 4

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I had a conversation a couple weeks ago about romanticism. A friend posed the question, “Do you think growing up with your head in a book hindered your ability to appreciate real life?” And though at first I could easily come up with a laundry list of situations where my romantic expectations had resulted in a significant letdown (ahem, prom), after thinking about her question for a few days, I realized I really feel my enthusiasm and appreciation for the more romantic aspects of life is a precious gift and not at all a burden.

Sure, real life is not especially romantic. The day to day, the routines, the have-to’s and the obligations. Arguments and errands, cleaning and finances. Sometimes the realness of it all feels heavy and crushes the soul just a little bit. But I think amidst those every day things, there are moments, simple pleasures, magical happenings that, if we are paying attention, can not only live up to but even surpass the lofty expectations we might have. That’s why I feel that having grown up in an assortment of fictional worlds where fantastical things happen and happy endings are always a possibility, is such a gift.

Because when those fleeting moments appear, we have the ability to appreciate their true magic.


I get asked a lot if this rural farming life is as romantic as it seems. And of course the real answer is no. It is, especially this time of year, composed of long, hot days and a never-ending series of harvests. Working seven days a week, constantly battling the forces of nature and coming home at midnight just to head back out first thing the next morning. This year, being unseasonably hot has brought with it a whole different set of issues and our farmers have worked their tails off trying to keep up. It’s been weeks since Taylor and I have more than a couple waking hours together and the world around me has started to turn brown and dead, depressing me just a little. And yet, among the sweat and exhaustion, the days and nights apart and worries over berry prices, there is a certain magic to it all.

I went out with Taylor last night as he made his evening rounds, checking on the berry pickers and making sure everything was running right. I watched the huge, impressive machines load up with men and crates and prepare for a night of work. I meekly followed Taylor behind the fleet as they took off down their rows and hesitated when he started to climb up the ladder of one of the machines. He turned and motioned for me to join him, so up I went and felt like a queen riding the pickers through the field, a cool breeze hitting my face as the sunset glowed pink and the sweet smell of blackberries perfumed the air. High up above the rows I could see it all, and as the thousands of berries fell in purple waterfalls onto the conveyor belt behind me and traveled on into their crates, I felt a wave of awe.

While this life may not actually be romantic according to most people’s standards, it sure is to me. After months of preparation, weeding, watering, spraying, fretting and haggling over prices, when all is said and done, good year or bad, there is something to show for it. Something small, beautiful and delicious that you can hold in your hand. Something that can only exist because of the watchfulness and love and care of a few special folks, who rarely have the time to appreciate the incredible work they do.

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My heart swelled with pride as I watched my husband work last night. It takes a lot of courage to make a career change of any kind, much less diving into a field so very different from what you were doing before. He’s learned so much and devoted so much time and energy trying to wrap his mind around what he’s seen of farming so far and I just couldn’t possibly admire him any more. I love nothing more than the times when I get to tag a long and watch him in action, so don’t expect the bragging to stop any time soon.

As we drove away from the field, watching the pickers work their way back and forth across the rows, Taylor said, “Isn’t it cool that these guys will be out here all night, just working away while everybody sleeps?” And I couldn’t help but agree. So much of farming is unnoticed, often unappreciated, and people take for granted those little berries they buy in the store. When in reality, an entire year’s time, money, labor and a final all night effort go into making those little beauties available so easily.

Romantic? Well, probably not. But magical? I’m sure of it.

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Life on the Farm: Vol. 3

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I’ve been thinking a lot about privacy lately. I’ve never considered myself a “private,” person, but as we’ve been going through some of the aspects of our personalities in counseling lately, it’s been brought to my attention that I might be. I’m realizing that when it comes to things that really mean something to me, things that I really want to feel, and experience, and process on a deep level, I have a tendency to turn inwards and hide out from other people. Try to keep my head clear of others thoughts and expectations so I can figure out how I really feel about a thing.

While I really enjoy being immersed in a community-minded culture for the most part, and have been so blessed by the friendships and job opportunities the world wide web has brought my way, there’s been a part of me that has resisted sharing lately. I’ve sat at the computer trying to come up with something to tell you guys, an update to share or photos to post, but nothing seems quiet right. I feel like I’ve been in a bit of an Internet hibernation, and while I felt a little guilty about it at first, it’s started to feel pretty darn liberating. I deleted my Facebook after years of wanting to do so. I cut the blogs that I read in half. I haven’t pinned a thing in weeks and I unfollowed about a third of the people on my Instagram.

Maybe it was a byproduct of the tidying book I was reading a few weeks ago, and I unconsciously feel the need to tidy up my online presence. Maybe it was burnout from years of being inundated with voices and images. Maybe it’s because I’ve become a person who revels in my quiet little life on the farm and has realized that quiet is a whole lot more life giving than all the noise online. Whatever it is, I’m liking it.

I still believe in honesty. In vulnerability. I still have plenty to say about plenty of things. But I’m also really enjoying living my life in real time, giving myself space to make up my own mind about things and spending my days in a quieter space.

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In the mean time, while I’ve been being quieter, life on the farm is ramping up all around me. I’m a little sad that I didn’t check in somewhere between here and now, because it was such a beautiful- albeit short-lived- spring, and now it’s basically summer. But I made some time to wander around the homestead Friday afternoon and when Taylor got off work, we hopped on a four-wheeler and cruised the fields so he could show me what he’s been working on. I thought it might be fun to share a few of my favorite bits.

My days lately have been full of morning walks (and occasionally runs) with Cash, dreaming up menus for summer events, lunches at home with my farmer, making a sweep of the house to clear out clutter, listening to Jeff’s record on repeat, watering the garden, admiring our giant bushes of drooping peonies, stopping to smell the roses and opening the front door each night to take in the cool evening air.

The strawberries in the field just kitty-corner to the house came on while I was in San Francisco last weekend, so I missed the cream of the crop, but I got out there twice last week and even managed to put away a few jars of freezer jam. My sister-in-law and I stuffed our faces with strawberry donuts from a local farmstead and I might just be a convert from the apple ones we buy every fall. Vive la strawberry!

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Taylor took me out to taste the first of the blueberries and they surely won’t be long now. With the mild winter and early summer heat, the marion and blackberries are sure to follow shortly after that. And it’s all I can do, I’ll tell ya, not to walk myself down the street in the afternoons for a slice of berry pie a la mode. Berry season will bring a (literal) buzz around these parts, and though I’ll probably have a nocturnal husband for a few weeks, I’m already anticipating eating my fill, canning as much as I can and freezing the rest.

It’s pretty hard to wake up in a bad mood this time of year. Birds chirping, sun shining on my face through my bedroom window and a cool, clean kitchen that awaits me when I wander downstairs. I sit at my dining room table every morning while I eat my Raisin Bran, pet my puppy and think to myself that it just doesn’t get a whole lot better than this, and even if I wanted to share a photo, there’s no way to do it all justice.

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As we cruised around the hundreds of rows of blooming berries Friday evening and the sun turned more and more golden on the horizon, all I could think was, “This life.” This life of fresh air and lingering sunsets. Of green grass for miles and an orchestra of sprinklers serenading me all day long. Of constant parades of tractors and hardly being able to walk a mile without waving to a family member. Of hopping on the back of a four-wheeler on a Friday night with the love of my life while he excitedly fills me in on everything he’s learned about farming over the last few months. This life of beauty, and peace and overwhelming joy. Of dirty hands and even dirtier pants and seemingly endless loads of laundry. This life which has proved to simultaneously be everything I hoped and much more than I could have imagined. This life is incredible and I did nothing to deserve it, but I’m determined to enjoy every last minute of it.

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Prairie Girl

Laura Ingalls

Thanks to a recent recommendation from a friend, I’m knee-deep in piles of clutter scattered all around the farmhouse, waiting their turn for an emotional evaluation. The funny part is, I’m not an especially clutter-prone person in the first place. And, this certainly isn’t the first time I’ve scaled down my earthly possessions in an effort to simplify my life. But since we’ve moved into this big old house, it seems all we’ve done is accumulate. For some reason simply having the space to store things means that you inevitably do. Well, no more. I’m about three weeks from a summer-long busy stretch and I’ll be darned if I’m not going into it clutter-free.

While sorting through the items in my office, I came upon my box of miscellaneous photos tucked in the back corner of the built-in bookshelf. I’ve always hated this box, one because of the hideous generic european wine print, and two, because it holds photographic evidence of at least 2/3 of my childhood traumas.*

A prom photo from the year I got pelted in the face with a softball two weeks before the dance. Pics from the first round of braces. And the second. A shot of the mullet I wore until third grade. The fountain of bangs held by a scrunchie as I grew that mullet out. The year I refused to wear anything but overalls. The days when butterfly-clip-adorned corn rows were all the rage. The years before I grew. The years when my nose grew first. Photographic evidence of friendships that didn’t last, crushes that never surfaced and events that hold all manner of embarrassing memories.

Though I’ve dealt with (or am currently dealing with, thank you very much therapy) most of the pain of my childhood awkwardness and humiliation, for the first time in a long time, going back through those photos wasn’t the most horrible thing in the world. In fact, this time, I was able to pick out a few photos I liked. Starting with the one above.

I’ve thought for a long time now that it took me forever to find myself. That I didn’t really learn who I was until my mid-twenties’ quarter life crisis. I was under the assumption that I’d had to quit my job, go to culinary school and start my own business to figure out what I liked and who I wanted to be. But as I looked through the dozens of photos this afternoon, and fondly picked a few out of the stack, I realized that so many pieces of myself I’ve come to love, have really been there all along.

Photos of my prized Laura Ingalls and Pippi Longstocking costumes and memories of hours logged in the woods playing pretend. A picture of Taylor and I taken just a few years ago, when we’d made it through a particularly rough patch, and I look happier and more loved than I ever could have hoped for. A couple snapshots of me playing in my plastic Playskool kitchen that my Mom handed to me when I graduated culinary school. A print of the last basketball game I ever played.

And something about that truth, something about the fact that who I am now has always been there in some sense, all of a sudden felt incredibly freeing. Like all of the leftover sadness and shame and pain I’ve carried from childhood, the fact that I always felt like the ugly duckling and the odd man out, the belief that I couldn’t ever really show my true self to anyone because everyone seemed to reject me when I did, all of those things were suddenly redeemed.

And I thought to myself, if these little pieces of me have been here all along, maybe I wasn’t such a misfit after all. Maybe it just took me a little longer to realize where I do fit in. Maybe, everyone else had it wrong. And that sweet, sensitive, ornery little girl who spent most of her days in a calico dress, running around a make believe prairie, ended up right where she belonged.

*Not ACTUAL traumatic events, just things that seem so as a child.

Down by the Creek

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I swear I’ve sat down to write at least five posts in the last few weeks, but nothing has felt quite right. I’ve been stuck inside my own head and trying to spend as much time outside as possible in this incredible weather, neither of which equates to writing productivity. But I’ve been working on some really fun stuff, and I wanted to pop in and share some of it with you this morning. There’s not much I’d rather see on a Monday morning than this sweet little family down by the creek.

I’ve known MJ since she was 18 years old. We played basketball together in college, and as the only two redheads on the team, we were thrown together immediately. We warmed to each other slowly, as most gingers do, but once we got to know each other, it was true love. I’ve been lucky enough to watch her navigate the muddy waters of college sports, family drama, unexpected life changes and becoming a Mom. And I can’t tell you what a joy it’s been to reconnect with her a few years out of school, and realize that we really have loads in common. She’s helped me with events, sent me fishing with her partner, Brett, and they even trusted me to hang with their little guy while they went to the hospital with little Lucy Mae, the newest addition to the clan. We’ve had many a heart-to-heart over fresh baked cookies or neck-deep in fruit salad, and I just adore her and her little family. Especially that Jack. He has my heart. They live life with such purpose and intention, and I always come away from time with them feeling so inspired to just be myself.

Thanks for letting me capture your beautiful family in one of your favorite places. Love you guys.

Cash-ing In: 5 Months

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Taylor mentioned the other day that it feels like over the course of the last month, Cash has slowly transitioned from puppy to dog. Of course he’s not nearly done growing yet, but he just seems older and more mature this month. His nap schedule has been totally jacked up the last couple weeks, and he is hard pressed to make it past 8:30 p.m.. We are guessing he’s at the front end of a serious growth spurt and I can’t believe how big he’s gotten already.

This month Cash started puppy school, joined us for a weekend trip to Mt. Hood with my family, made a trek around Silver Falls State Park and took his first real swim in a pond at Keeler Estate. His second swim came on a seven mile hike to Mirror Lake. Despite the fact that he drenches us with one shake, I’m pretty sure swimming puppies are the cutest thing ever. Last weekend we took him up to Opal Creek and he led the pack the whole way. He’s definitely an outdoorsy fella and we couldn’t be more thrilled. We made it through the baby tooth loss this month without any major damage, and only had to pull one of his teeth out of his mouth after realizing that the crunching coming from below our table was him chomping on it. He’s not a big snuggler, preferring to be independent most of the time, but in the evenings if you’re lucky, and he’s sleepy enough, he’ll drape a paw over your hand or lay his head on your feet.

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Things Cash loves: Ice cubes. Hiking (as long as he’s in the front). Dinner. Being outside. Any form of water. Walking through every single puddle in his path. Baths. Running up the stairs. Dinner. His Gryffindor snuggie. His Ariel blanket. Sticking his head out of the window in the car (finally!). Cardboard boxes. Grocery bags. Egg cartons. Bully sticks. Treats of any kind. Grass clumps. Carpet. Birds, bees and flowers. Running free in the grass field behind our house. Running away from us when we need to get him back inside.

Things Cash does NOT love: Being hooked up to his new “run” in the yard while we do fun things like yard work without him. Having his nails clipped. In fact, he just hates the very sight of the nail clippers. His new harness. Trying hard not to jump on new people. Getting caught when he steals a towel from the kitchen. Being told not to lick the garbage can. The vacuum cleaner. Being left in the car. Being left anywhere.

This month he’s proven he’s completely potty trained, is pretty good about listening and with some helpful suggestions from our trainer at puppy school, should be mastering more obedience tricks shortly. We’re not big fans of the dog park, preferring instead to hang with Cash’s “uncle” Chase who is teaching him the art of chasing chickens and peeing with your leg up. Buddy also gets about 10-15 minutes of party time with other puppies at school on Sunday afternoons. I felt proud as a peacock watching him play with all the other babies last week. He got mauled by a few more aggressive dogs and sniffed a lot of “parts,” but was basically a perfect gentleman. It was kind of the cutest thing ever.

One of my favorite things he does is when he looks back at me during a hike or walk to make sure I’m there and get the okay to keep going. Sigh. I love him. We are both so looking forward to the adventures we’ll get to share with our sweet boy this spring as weather improves. Thanks for the sweetest fifth month, Cash Martin! We’re obsessed with you!

Cash Martin | Bird is the Word

A Day in the Life

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When Bird is the Word moved from just a glimmer in my eye to a living, breathing part of my everyday life, I promised myself I would start an interview series. A series that follows some of my favorite people around for a day, chronicling their lives, their work and their beautiful spirits. And I’m making good on that promise. We’re on to our sixth Day in the Life interview today, and I’m so excited to share this beautiful person with you! See the other interviews, here.

Everyone knows Beth. Despite the fact that before this interview I’d probably never had more than a two minute conversation with her, I feel like I’ve known her for years. She’s everywhere. With a hand in everything. She’s kind, and talented and the kind of person who just embodies the very essence of community spirit.

She’s worked with Friends of Family Farmers, spent the last two summers at Yamhill River Farm, been a mainstay at the McMinnville farmer’s market and serves as a huge advocate for agriculture in Yamhill County. She’s a life-long learner, passionate activist, and now, after years of supporting other young farmers, has become a farmer herself. With the help of partner Erik Grimstad, Beth has created Even Pull Farm, a small, three acre farm just outside McMinnville which will support a CSA, make a weekly appearance at the farmer’s market and work with local restaurants.

Last year Beth and I worked together on a sustainability workshop at Linfield College. The food was donated by a local farm and I was tickled pink to be able to make seasonal dishes I loved from ingredients harvested just miles away. Though public speaking is not my forte, I was thrilled to be able to talk about supporting local farmers with my business decisions and share tips and tricks with the students. And after I get done, feeling pretty proud of myself, Beth gets up there and just knocks all our socks off.

She has spent so much time and given so much of her heart to understanding the ins and outs of the local food system. I was blown away by the knowledge she had and the research she had done. And the most impressive part to me was her deep seeded hopefulness. In an industry where it’s very easy to be jaded about the status quo, Beth projects a bright hope for the future, believing the best thing we can do is take it one step at a time. I so enjoyed spending a morning with her capturing the steps she’s taking and I can’t wait to go back this summer and see how things have progressed. Without any further gushing, let me just go ahead and share with you A Day in the Life with Beth Satterwhite.

Who are you?
Farmer Beth! Which is great. I love it. I guess you could say I’m pretty quiet, a private person. I like to work hard, which is a good thing since I also love to eat. Physical labor makes me feel better about the world.

I like to have my work be just like my life, guided by the values of responsibility, sustainability and community. I try to embody that. It’s important for me to have work that’s tangible. I need to be genuine- walk the walk, as they say. It also helps me monitor my perfectionist streak.

Where do you live?
McMinnville. I went to Linfield and never left. The first couple of years were hard. I didn’t know anyone except Erik. But we love it here. We’ve built a great community, which has made our business possible!

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What do you love most about where you live?
I really love the agricultural landscape. But mostly the people. We’ve met so many wonderful people. Everyone here is so community minded. They look out for each other. We found a truck just by putting the word out there. It’s pretty amazing.

It’s so nice to live in a place where we’re known, not just an anonymous face. I’m so grateful for this tight-knit community.

What does a normal day in your life look like?
It varies a lot seasonally. Right now I get up, answer emails and do computer work. I try to be out at the farm pretty early to check on everything. Then, I work on the farm and usually eat much too late. I do the watering, check on things. Lately it’s been a lot of infrastructure. Building our hoop house and a wash station. Getting comfortable with the new equipment. Come mid-April we’ll be focusing more on planting, irrigation, etc.

I try to get home at a decent hour and cook real food, when I can. I still have a part-time job, though it’s ending soon, and I’m looking forward to diving fully into the farm.

It does seem that the work is endless though. Take photos, write down records, look ahead a week or two. Once harvest season comes, that’s what we’ll be doing most of. Winter season is mostly planning and seed orders, crop amendments and equipment maintenance.

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How did you get into what you do? 
Well, I thought I wanted to be a nurse. But then I really hated my science classes in college, got frustrated and landed in sociology and environmental issues. Which naturally led me to food and sparked my interest in community and caring for the earth.

I did my thesis on CSAs and spent a year interviewing farmers to learn about their history and community. It was the first time I’d really talked to a farmer. I think this is what first made me realize farming could be a career.

After school I worked a few random jobs, which was good for making connections, then I ended up doing a food assessment for Yamhill County. It opened my eyes and made me see that I didn’t want to work for a non-profit. The more time I spent there, the more I realized I wanted to farm. I started talking with farmers, met Aren at Yamhill River and worked with them for two seasons. I ran their market booth, wrote CSA newsletters and got to try out the various aspects of CSA. I also met the girls who farmed our land before us and the rest is history.

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What do you like most about it? What inspires you?
I like a lot about farming! Happily. The most exciting thing is it’ll always keep me engaged in learning. It’s something I can do for a long time and always be learning new things, or refining, or creating a new system. It won’t become so much of the hum-drum, daily routine. I love feeling challenged by the work I do. I’d be really frustrated if I had my job dialed.

I also love that it gives me an opportunity to care for a little piece of the world, enrich the natural environment, improve the soil, retain more water and achieve some of my lofty environmental goals. I’ve always been interested in changing or fixing things in the world, but often it becomes so overwhelming. I can’t fix poverty. I can’t fix global warming. It’s just too big. But on a three-acre farm, you can create that change and solve things you see on the macro, in the micro. It’s a small enough thing to tackle, you can have a pretty good affect. You can feed people good food so they can feel better and do more! And I get to eat good food forever.

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Favorite thing to grow?  
Lettuce. It’s the flower of the vegetable world.

I’m also super excited about our flower operation. I find such joy in growing something so beautiful. That feeling is always there on farms, but flowers are such a nice creative outlet. And I’m excited to see how they work business-wise.

Favorite farmers?
Brian and Jess of Working Hands Farm, of course. They’re just so wonderful. We met them at a raw milk workshop. It was such a natural friendship. We care about the same things. They’ve been wonderful mentors.

Pitchfork & Crow. They had no farming background, but they just grow the most beautiful food and are such great, unassuming people.

Jello Mold Farm. Provider Farm. Local Roots and Floret in the Seattle area. Local Roots has been such a great resource online. They are really good about posting videos of their systems and teaching. It’s always so fun to see what other people are doing!

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What do you like to do on a NOT so normal day?
Reading, writing and photography. Reading things that aren’t educational. I would love to have more time for poetry and essays. Using my film camera around town or the farm. Give myself permission to just get in the zone. Drink coffee. Eat good food. It doesn’t take much to make me happy.

Thank you so much Beth, I’m so looking forward to visiting Even Pull this summer when things are in full swing!

If you are interested in doing a Day in the Life interview, please get in touch.

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A Wild Ride


Somewhere, amongst the stress and pressure of my senior year of college, the seemingly endless schedule of basketball games, the impending doom of graduation and, oh yeah, studying, I lost myself. Any semblance of the person I might want to be when I growed up got buried deep in the muck of trying to survive that year of my life.

As you can imagine, this was not an ideal time for my sense of self to go missing. I was about to make a bunch of BIG decisions and knowing what I actually felt about them might have been helpful. In just one year’s time I found myself getting engaged. Choosing a career path. Moving. Getting married. Changing jobs. Moving again. Buying a house. And the list goes on. And I was just as confused on the outside as I was on the inside. I tried bangs. I got highlights. I went through a red lipstick phase. I spent all the money I earned at Anthropologie, buying ruffled dresses and printed tights and an obnoxious amount of blouses with tags that said “dry-clean only.”  Trying so desperately to find something that made me feel beautiful, authentic, real. I took photos of my outfits and posed for daily “what I wore” shots in my backyard. I tried my hand at being a fashion blogger and even attended a national blogging conference in Chicago. No matter what I did, or said, or wore, nothing seemed to suit me at all.

I took a corporate job doing something I wasn’t formally trained in, but the paycheck was enticing and I convinced myself that grown up, married people had desk jobs. Shortly after realizing my boss was a lunatic, I took another corporate job in another town and without thinking, we made the move. You know what they say, mo’ money, mo’ problems. I trudged to my windowless, basement office day after day, rotting away in front of a giant computer screen, 40 well-paid hours a week.

And I sunk deeper, and deeper still, into the muck.

Besides my miserable job, I also loathed the little house we had bought. I’d felt a little shanghaied about the whole ordeal and deeply regretted the purchase. It was a 45 minute drive from everyone I loved and I was completely alone, still trying to wrap my head around what it meant to be a wife. Frustrated and looking for someone else to blame, I started to look at the boy I’d loved from first sight with resentment and mistrust. I felt completely out of control of my life and miserable at the thought that the rest of my days might be spent like this. I was anxious all the time and deeply dissatisfied. I wanted out. I wanted to get away. Run away! Far from everything my life had become. And so, being the go-getter that I am, I decided something had to change and I forged ahead, trying out one crazy idea after another.

I considered going back to school to get my masters and teach English. I thought about quitting my job and working at Anthropologie. I spent all my money there anyway, might as well get a discount, right? I applied to Fashion School in LA and convinced myself I desperately wanted to go. I’d stay up all night researching LA neighborhoods and taking virtual tours of apartments in Koreatown. I entertained thoughts of leaving my husband when he said he wouldn’t go. It was the first time he’d ever told me “no,” and I hated him for it. I begged him to make a career change, too. To take a job overseas so we could escape all the decisions we’d made to get ourselves so stuck. And I woke up every morning with an ache for the day we’d sell that damn house.

Throughout these miserable months, the only thing that brought me any comfort was watching a cooking show here and there. When I lived alone briefly in the months between graduation and our wedding, I’d watch the Food Network in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep. It made me feel calm, and serene, and hungry. Watching Ina Garten make roast chicken after perfect roast chicken made me feel like maybe the world wasn’t such a nasty place, after all.

High on the tiniest bit of reprieve I’d found, I started inhaling food culture like it was my life. Watching Ratatouille, Julie & Julia and No Reservations on repeat. Buying full seasons of Giada at Home at Target. Reading Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, and every book on Julia Child I could get my hands on. Eventually I came across Mireille Guiliano’s French Women series, which totally changed the way I thought about life, food and eating. Mireille, we’re on a first name basis, preached that life, and food, were about pleasure and enjoyment. Finding our bliss in what we make, eat and do. Her words resurrected my soul and I felt my head rise out of the muck, just a little.

Inspired by all of the food I’d been reading about, I began to cook. First, I made all of Mireille’s recipes. Baguettes and omlettes. French toast, pasta with prosciutto and leek soup. I botched a few things along the way, but mostly I felt like a natural in the kitchen! I started drinking a small glass (like literally a tablespoon) of wine every night while I chopped and prepped, and strictly followed her daily dark chocolate regimen. I spent my previously dreary work days looking forward to dinner, and used my days off for browsing the aisles of the local natural foods store. I reorganized my pantry, putting everything in pretty, labeled mason jars, and shopped for dry goods in the bulk aisles. I was still unhappy with my life circumstances, but the absolute misery had begun to recede.

Second, I learned about eating seasonally and locally. I read how my body craved warmth and sustenance in the colder months and realized eating what was growing then actually made me feel more satisfied. I bought new and exciting ingredients I’d never heard of before. I took my first trip to the Farmer’s Market and tasted my first farm fresh eggs. Gamechanger. I lost the weight I’d gained from a mix of unhappiness and eating out, and my hair grew out, long and healthy. I felt better about myself than I had in years. Ascribing to more of Mirelle’s advice about life, I started to follow the French beauty regimen, less is more and natural is best. I cut my morning routine down to a quick, five minute schtick, and suddenly looked more like myself than I ever had. I purged my wardrobe of ruffles and lace, ditching the brightly colored frocks in favor of simple, neutral pieces, and I also said adieu to the contacts I’d worn since fifth grade, deciding I liked the way I looked in glasses.

After almost three years of feeling like I wouldn’t recognize the person I was if I ran into her on the street, I could finally feel myself being pulled from the muck, limb by limb. My relationship with my husband became fun again. I let go of my unjust hatred for our poor little house and decided instead to embrace the place, painting the walls white and finishing our backyard. We planted hydrangeas and lilac bushes and I felt so proud as they bloomed. I planted my first garden and froze berries, canned peaches and filled my house with potted herbs and fresh cut flowers. We ate meals I had cooked on a little bistro table in our backyard and ate grilled veggies I’d grown with my own two hands. My circumstances hadn’t changed, I’d still made some choices I regretted, but the crushing misery and hopelessness were gone. Despite the fact that I still really, really wanted to move on from my job and our house, I’d somehow become rather content.

They say that just about the time you start to get comfortable somewhere, that’s when everything finally starts to change. Once we made the painstakingly analyzed (and over analyzed) decision to send me to culinary school, we set in motion a chain of events and it was basically one thing after another. Two dizzying years filled with a crazy commute to school, my first kitchen job, Taylor starting grad school, my second kitchen job, finally selling our house and moving into a tiny apartment, and starting a catering business. 2014 was spent simply trying to catch our breath.

And when we did catch our breath, six years into this marriage business, both having gone back to school, both managing to find a version of ourselves we were happy to wake up to in the morning, we started to think…what’s next!? We’ve done what we set out to do. We’ve faced our demons and come out the other side better for it. Where do we go from here?


The other night, while I was reading through some old journal entries, trying desperately to come up with something interesting for the next installment of Our Story, I stumbled upon a conversation we’d had just a few months into our relationship. It had started out as a talk about our exes, you know, the traditional who you’d dated, and how long, and how fresh you’d been with them, sorta thing. It was a conversation I’d dreaded, knowing my number was larger than his and also realizing my past relationship history painted a not-so-flattering picture of who I was at the time.

But the talk was much less painful than I imagined it would be and quickly turned towards our future instead of the past. It was the first time we’d talked of “our,” future. We were only a few months into this “our” stuff, after all. And just because I’d been sure were going to get married since day one, didn’t mean I expected a normal person him to feel the same way. I had been very busy prematurely panicking over what I’d do after graduation, I mean I was getting an English degree for goodness sakes. A degree which told me nothing about my life except, “hooray, you can read and write!” I was obviously going to go broke, end up homeless and labeled a big fat failure. In typical Taylor fashion, he listened to my irrationality, providing some practical insights, and comforting me with the thought that he’d be there to support me, no matter what. A truth which, at the time made me feel week in the knees, but now makes my heart just swell with gratitude.

And then, though it didn’t seem strange to me at the time, he started to talk about what he wanted to do. Which now, knowing him much better, I realize was quite out of character. You see, Taylor is gifted with the unique ability to live in the present and doesn’t usually waste spend a lot of time trying to micromanage his future. He goes with the flow. Makes decisions when he’s faced with them, leaves the stressing to me. Yet for some reason, he sat there that night, at 19 years old and pretty clearly, laid out his plans. He saw himself doing some sort of counseling for 5-6 years and then looking into what it might be like to help manage the family farm.

My brain kind of exploded when I read that this week. Here we were thinking this farm business had come out of nowhere! That we’d never really been interested in the path of agriculture. That it had come upon us so recently and unexpectedly. When all the while, Taylor had predicted the whole thing at 19 freaking years old. When I read the journal entry out loud to Taylor, he just grinned widely and said, “well that’s pretty cool.”

You can say that again. Cool indeed. Over the last six years, while I was busy having a quarter life crisis, doubting everything I’d ever known, trying desperately to find myself and changing jobs about 47 times, there he was, just doing his thing. A constant. Working slowly, deliberately, intentionally towards his goals. Going through just as much change and transformation as me, being grown and stretched and pushed, just doing it a whole lot less dramatic-like. That’s kinda how he rolls.

Today is my husband’s last day of work at George Fox. His last day at a place he’s loved so much I’ve often felt jealous of it. His last day in his role as an admissions counselor, athletic recruiter, student guider, parent adviser and coach mediator. He has single-handedly recruited more students to George Fox than any other admissions counselor, ever. And he has changed lives, you guys. In the span of his six(ish) year tenure, he has received more emails, and cards, and letters, from students and families than I can count. He is beloved by his coworkers, and respected and admired by all who know him. The intentional, patient way he does things has significantly impacted both the admissions and athletics departments, and made a whole lot of people’s lives better. He helped recruit the university’s first football team in 60 years and was still, a mere week before his departure, spending his Sunday evening answering emails so no one felt overlooked.

I can’t tell you how proud I am of the man he has become in these last six years. Especially since I was already pretty proud of the boy I married in the first place. Especially since I was pretty busy trying to steal the limelight most of that time. He is so deeply kind, wise and discerning. He has learned how to stand up for himself and when to put his pride aside for the common good. He is an incredible leader, excellent decision maker and one of those obnoxious people who is usually right about anything and everything. He is unafraid to express his emotions and make himself vulnerable when others wouldn’t dream of it. He’s risen above countless obstacles and adversities and refuses to sacrifice his standards to get ahead. He still cares as much on his last day as he did on his first and I know he will be dearly missed. Although he says he’s ready to move on, I know he will always feel a deep love, appreciation and responsibility for the well being of George Fox and it’s people.

I also can’t tell you what it felt like to read that journal entry this week of all weeks. To realize that, although it’s taken six long years of feeling completely lost and broken at times, this whole thing has come so perfectly full circle. To recognize how we’ve come back to the people we were in the sweet early days of our romance, and at the same time become these brand new, hard fought, better versions of who we once were. To feel like we’ve completed at least a small part of the good and perfect will of the one who orchestrated this whole thing. To know that in a week’s time, as my husband slips into his new work boots and hops on a tractor, we’ll be setting off on a brand new adventure. To know that if this one is half as good as the last, we’re in for a wild ride.

Photos by Gabriel Boone Photography.

Spinach Pasta Salad

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Row after row of tables heaving with steaming casseroles and crisp salads, platters of crunchy fried chicken and potato salad, slow cookers filled with little smokies bathed in barbecue sauce and vibrant bowls of punch speckled with frothy scoops of sherbet. A sea of tables has transformed the carpeted church gym and nothing can be heard but the dull roar of churchgoers chatting over their sagging plates. While you wait in line you plot and ploy, anticipating the dishes you love and strategizing how to maximize the space on your always-too-small paper plate. You make your way through the labyrinth of pyrex, piling your pillage high and trying so very hard to obey your mother’s instructions not to sneak a bite in line. You praise her for her contributions and make sure to taste her dishes, whether or not they are your favorites. And when it’s all said and done, you hit the seventh level of heaven, also known as the dessert table.

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This my friends, is the glory of the magical, mythical church potluck. I was lucky enough to grow up in a church that still practiced the art of potlucking. I remember some of the dishes with delight, and others with disdain, but the affair itself, well there’s just nothing quite like it.

Since we’ve moved out to the country, and week after week drive by dozens of country churches, I’ve been thinking about doing a blog series on classic church lady/potluck recipes. There’s something so beautifully nostalgic about the potluck tradition and I always drool a little, imagining all of the delicious things being consumed inside those churches as we drive by. All of the Grandma Betty’s secret sauces being savored. All of Aunt Becky’s almond bark being devoured. So I decided it was high time I live up to my new role as a farmer’s wife and dive deep into the wealth of potluck history. Take some of the old favorites and put my own fresh, seasonal spin on them, all the while paying homage to those that have gone before. I’ve done some pretty intensive research, consulting many a church cookbook and a few relatives, and I think I’ve come up with a pretty good roster of recipes. Join me in my exploration of potlucking lore, won’t you? This is going to be fun.

My first recipe comes from one of my very favorite church ladies of all time, my Mother-in-law! This salad has been made quite a lot in our house over the years, especially in our newlywed days when I was less than adept in the kitchen. Taylor still loves it to death and I just knew I could give it a fresh twist. I made a homemade, herbed buttermilk ranch instead of using bottled dressing and threw in a mix of heirloom spinach and baby kale to liven up the salad portion. I boiled some organic pasta I had on hand, and chopped up a nitrate-free chunk of ham and some extra sharp cheddars, both white and orange. Though I’m not a huge fan of olives, my husband is, and they add such a nice pop of color, I decided to add them anyway. I threw them in whole to add a little depth and texture. I sat down with a little bowl of this stuff for dinner and quickly decided I’d be proud to take this to any potluck I was invited to! Which I hopefully will be soon…

What are your favorite church lady potluck dishes? I’d love to know!

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Spinach Pasta Salad
  • 2 tablespoons minced shallot
  • 2 tablespoons chopped basil
  • 2 tablespoons chopped chives
  • 1 tablespoon chopped parsley
  • 2 cloves garlic, minced
  • 2 teaspoons teaspoons lemon juice
  • ½ cup organic mayonnaise
  • 1 cup buttermilk
  • Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
  • Smoked paprika, pinch
  • 10 oz Pasta, cooked (I like corkscrew for soaking up the dressing)
  • 6 oz fresh Spinach
  • 6 oz Fresh Baby Kale
  • 8 oz Extra Sharp Cheddar, cubed
  • 8 oz Extra Sharp White Cheddar, cubed
  • 1 can whole, pitted Black Olives
  • 6 oz nitrate-free Ham, cubed
  • 1 Tbsp chives, sliced
  1. Chop herbs, shallots and garlic and combine with other dressing ingredients in a pint mason jar. Shake to combine.
  2. Bring a small stockpot full of salted water to a boil and cook pasta, adding a little olive oil. When cooked, drain and let cool. Toss in a little olive oil so it doesn't stick together.
  3. Meanwhile, prep the salad ingredients. Chop chives, wash greens, cube ham and cheeses and drain olives.**
  4. When pasta is cool, combine ingredients and toss with ranch dressing.*
*I like to store my salad without dressing and simply add it to individual portions. The salad stays fresher that way if you don't happen to be heading to a potluck anytime soon.Great for lunches!
**Would be lovely with some diced avocado added in!