Holler fest or folly?
Years ago, an acquaintance of mine started a newsletter. It was a fine little four or six-page newsletter, but the editor's column seemed to regularly dwell on how difficult it was to publish the newsletter. After reading various versions of this complaint, I found myself thinking, "Well, we didn't ask you to start this newsletter; it was your idea!"
Okay, last month (August), we decided to celebrate our 35 years on the farm with a two-day festival called Holler fest. The fest is now one week away and there is a lot to do -- a lot to do. And we have already done a lot. It has been way more work than we anticipated, but then we would never have decided to do it if we had known how much work it would be! I know, you didn't ask us to hold a music festival; it was our idea.
One of the abiding pleasures of being a family farm is working with my sons. One day, not long ago, we were stuck in the greenhouse transplanting hundreds, maybe more than a thousand, tiny lettuce seedlings. Conversation passed the time, and turned toward the length and breadth of the cosmos -- and then toward infinity -- and then, in the face of inconceivable lack of limits, toward mortality. I asked with a sigh what to do, considering the temporal circumscription of our life. A short pause, and then my son replied, "Don't hold back."
Holler fest looms in one week. There is a ton of work to do. But I'm not complaining, and I'm not holding back. Hope to see you there!
Okay, last month (August), we decided to celebrate our 35 years on the farm with a two-day festival called Holler fest. The fest is now one week away and there is a lot to do -- a lot to do. And we have already done a lot. It has been way more work than we anticipated, but then we would never have decided to do it if we had known how much work it would be! I know, you didn't ask us to hold a music festival; it was our idea.
One of the abiding pleasures of being a family farm is working with my sons. One day, not long ago, we were stuck in the greenhouse transplanting hundreds, maybe more than a thousand, tiny lettuce seedlings. Conversation passed the time, and turned toward the length and breadth of the cosmos -- and then toward infinity -- and then, in the face of inconceivable lack of limits, toward mortality. I asked with a sigh what to do, considering the temporal circumscription of our life. A short pause, and then my son replied, "Don't hold back."
Holler fest looms in one week. There is a ton of work to do. But I'm not complaining, and I'm not holding back. Hope to see you there!
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