Better Off?

Abigail wet in the middle of the night. (I hope that’s not embarrassing for her. I am fairly certain that’s a common childhood occurrence, and I believe that I was a bed-wetter myself.) None of my boys thus far have been bed-wetters, and I must have been in sound slumber, because I was completely discomfited when I awoke at 2:30am. Phil was the hero: he had heard her talking before she wet, so he was thinking a bit more clearly than I: he got up, found the light switch (after walking across the frigid floor--yuck!), and helped me locate her other set of pajamas. She had worked her way out of the sleeping bag, so we were okay there, but her mat was quite wet. I, again, had no helpful suggestions. Phil reminded me that we had another mat stored right below the bunks, that fit perfectly.

Country resourcefulness at its finest: wake up wet in the middle of the night? We can get you new clothes, new blankets, even a new mattress in five minutes or less.

When we awoke in the morning, we found frost on the ground. The thermometer at our door said 28 degrees. I was so incredibly thankful that breakfast was finished in the breadmaker, and I wouldn’t have to go outside for a few hours. (Phil, on the other hand, after researching white-tailed deer habits, went out early to try to get a deer. The neighbor’s dog Neeta followed him, though, so no deer came near.) The pigs cracked me up: we had tossed them large armfuls of spoiled hay, and they made themselves nests. They were so buried that I wondered if they had escaped, until I saw a little pink back, all that was visible of Abby the pig.

Here’s a funny thing. We found my longed-for mill yesterday, and I made a loaf of bread. Now, when I make loaves with the spelt I’ve ground by hand, the loaves came out perfectly. I figured they’d come out even better with machine-milled spelt. After all, the flour is so much finer, so much softer.

Not so. The first loaf didn’t even mix all the way. The pigs were happy, I suppose, with the inedible, somewhat raw mass of unappealing dough-and-flour that was left. Blech! I used a little less flour the second time, and the result was our breakfast: not quite fully cooked bread, that even the toaster could not make delicious (though it did make it edible).

These less-than-luscious loaves reminded me of a book I read some time ago: Better Off, by Eric Brende. The author, an MIT grad student, wondered whether technology actually makes our life “better off,” and lives for 18 months with an Amish-like community. Phil and I were astonished at his insights. One example from the book (not verbatim, as I’m not sure if our book is loaned out or packed): a man using a cross-cut saw says, “I can cut about the same amount now as I did when I used a chain saw. The muscle fatigue is different—with a chain saw, the vibrations and the noise exhausted me, and the fear of maiming was always in mind.”

When we visited the land last year, Phil tested this theory. At least for our little saplings, he found he MUCH preferred the hand tools. The chain saw spewed smoke that covered his arms, and his arms quickly got tired. The chainsaw couldn’t cut as close to the ground, either. A scythe and a handsaw worked much better. He was “better off” without the power tool.

Which brings me back to the mill. Yes, the actual milling process is a good deal faster with the electric mill. But in order to get the mill out, I have to leave the barn kitchen, go to the trailer and lift it down from the wardrobe, clear space on the dresser, mill with it, empty it, replace it on the shelf, and return to the kitchen. In the meantime, I’ve subjected my ears to the airplane-whine of the motor, and subjected my living space to the fine powdery dust (or at least the potential for it). And for a mediocre (at best) loaf of bread.

For the present, when I can only make one loaf at a time anyway, I’ll stick with the hand mill. When I have the ability to make bread in bulk, and I can cook it in an oven where I have control, I’ll probably return to the Nutrimill, which served me well in Boulder. (And, if you want an electric mill, I’d highly recommend it.) It could be even that when Phil goes to cut down larger trees, the crosscut saw is too exhausting.

But I think it’s an interesting question to keep in mind, not to assume that technology makes life better.

(Spoiler for the book: after eighteen months, Eric and his wife decide that they would prefer to move back to the city. So they do, with some modifications. If I remember correctly, they operate a bed and breakfast in St. Louis, where they wash the sheets by hand and live off of solar power. So they end up with more technology than they had during their grand experiment, but significantly less than a normal American. That’s their way of being better off.)

My extra three pounds of garlic arrived today. I got started planting it, but have a ways to go. The frost completely wiped out my poor beans (which is probably just as well. I need a bit more garlic planting room). The pigs ate the wilted bean greens with relish. All the other vegetables continue growing, which is gratifying. Abigail picked Abraham about seven radishes, until he finally had enough. We have turnip greens daily as I keep thinning my impatient planting. I have learned my lesson: plant carefully upfront and enjoy the garden, or scatter the seed in haste and go through the gut-wrenching work of killing baby plants. Thinning: every gardeners least favorite job. Blech. I do not plan to scatter seeds in haste again.

Phil had an interesting afternoon. The Bessettes killed one of their pigs today, and Phil was invited. He didn’t talk about it much, but he, Dennis, and Dennis’ friend/instructor Arra apparently shot a .22 into the head, which killed the pig. Then Arra cut the throat from the side, while Dennis held the tail (Phil watched). “A lot of blood” came out then, and the pig flopped around (oh, those muscle spasms are so yucky!). Then they strung it up and skinned it, then gutted it. Arra took that pig in payment, and next month he’ll do the other pig and teach them how to butcher it. Apparently, it is best to hang a pig for two or three days to let the meat firm up before butchering, so the current plan is to have Dennis and Phil kill it, and have Arra come out a few days later for the butchering tutorial.

In the words of my friend Tamara, “It all sounds rather unpleasant.”