S is for Starts and Stops

and plain ole sauerkraut

Happy New Year 🥳

Here we are a few days into 2024. What’s bubbling up for you?

In this first week of a new year younger self would be doing all the things—from regular journal writing to good exercise habits to whatever my maternal goal might have been. This self hasn’t written in a journal yet, hasn’t moved into a new calendar (oh I do love that though), and hasn’t picked up weights or done yoga. I have taken a breathtaking long forest walk with my love though. I have also made a mess—yesterday I got a big idea about going through my bookshelves and making hard decisions about what to pass on. I have, I hope, learned that change takes time.

We put so much pressure on ourselves, in general, but this time of year especially. The energy of a New Year forces us to feel the need to become our new selves. But what about loving our old selves? What about easing into a new year slowly? What about trying to stay still and letting the year reveal itself?

In that spirit, yesterday I was moved to let go of many of the books on my shelf that represented part of our library that for a dozen years or so was my identity. This wasn’t something that had been *on my list* but just bubbled up. While I’d pivoted away from that part of my journey through this life many years ago, this collection of books represented that touch point, or maybe proof of a time. Looking at the shelves reminded me and also allowed me to think I could dip back into, say, milking a cow if I wanted to. (And honestly, it was a first pass. It wasn’t a wholesale sweep of the three shelves, but a good start. This morning I lingered in front of the shelves and took a few more off. Some titles evoke more memory of the inspiration they provided than I am ready to part with.)

First pass at a shelf sweep.

Some particularly old books that were given to me by our neighbor Lillian in the early aughts. She and Al were in their 80s. They'd known the Nearings and were deep into homesteading during the 70s and 80s. They'd found their stride and were still producing a lot at home.

When we moved to these mountains that we call home we had no dreams of homesteading, beyond a garden, some trees, and some dairy goats. Our son was sensitive to cow milk and I wanted the kids to have a concept of where their food came from, that was it, but…

Because I tend to jump directly into the deep end…

because we suddenly had several acres and a dilapidated barn…

because I was passionate about good food…

because I was barely 30…

because after a childhood of moving every few years this felt like my forever home…

I became obsessed with the idea of a homestead.

First, this was growing all our food. However, as Christopher’s remote job became stressful it became my way of trying to figure out how to live the rarely attainable agrarian dream of a small homestead providing a living wage. (Not to mention, this one was located in the mountains on marginal soil.) For many years I believed and worked toward this future of a happy, income-producing family operation.

At some point, I read that this dream is a collective misconception—it was never possible without an outside income of some kind. It burst my bubble, but I continued to believe that from home I could work our way out of this predicament we’d found ourselves in.  The small fermentation business I ran was the main product company that was going to at least get us closer to financial independence. (If you have ever tried to run a small product company, you are rolling your eyes at this moment, because in a sense I jumped from the proverbial pot to the frying pan. Again, a small business model that is a much more complicated and difficult proposition than meets the eye—at least to pay oneself. 

Because of it, I did stumble into a whole different career as a fermentation educator and author. It was standing at the market that I started to educate and learn firsthand how interested people are in understanding these foods.

And I did have fun--especially after I realized I could ferment any vegetable. I worked with neighboring farms and often fermented their seconds and overages—adding value to something that was headed for the compost pile. One time Christopher and I were at the market with a bunch of variations of sauerkraut and pickles and a woman walked up and said, “don’t you have any plain sauerkraut?”

We did but it was deep in a cooler. We were so excited about all the flavors we forgot how delicious simplicity is. I think of that question often when I think I am not doing enough of this or that—I find it grounding. It is with this reminder that I created these videos for you on making just plain sauerkraut.

I am enjoying this uncut, unedited, way to share my work, during a typical day. When I start to plan and/or there is editing to be done I lock up. So much so that things don’t get made. I have been playing around with these untouched moments of fermentation in my home as part of the paid subscription. (This week I will dive into salt on the paid post.)

I hope you enjoy. The demo is in two parts because there is no way to pause a recording within this tool.

Happy Making!