Rufus and I spend some of the last hours of 2020 in the act of construction, a befitting coda to a year of edification. Perhaps it’s a slapping blasphemy to name 2020 so endearingly, but somehow this turn around the sun didn’t wipe us off the map. It put us in a position to build. Many small farmers are just one failure away from devastation, but this year was actually good to us in a sick sort of way. In crisis, the masses need farmers like us. People turned to their local growers, invested in their food, and shifted the reality on farms like ours. Our food choices matter. They can build resilience in rural communities or contribute to economic collapse. We saw it personally this year, but it’s sacrilegious to eulogize success among suffering. I only point to the curiosity of the peasant erecting structures among the rubble, and hope we can build something better together.
