I know that everything the President of the United States does is a matter of public record. Swatting a fly seems hardly newsworthy to me. If I had swatted the fly, I’d have eaten it. I believe in eating what I kill.

Flooding and all water-related issues have dominated my life this year. Our CSA farmer says he’d rather have a dry year than a wet year, especially when irrigation is an option.

The universe is still laughing at my plan to spend most, if not all of the lengthening days of June outdoors under the stars.

I spent most of yesterday finding a place for the volumes of mesclun, lettuce, and other leafy greens growing too fast to pick. Farming, like foraging, is labor intensive. I work much harder for my food than most 21st Century people.

When we grab ready-made food and eat it on the run, we develop a false sense of what it takes to produce the food we eat. As diligent as I am, I’m not growing the grains, raising the chickens producing organic eggs, or churning my own butter.

I’m willing to invest the time it takes for me to eat locally-grown foods, because I am convinced that eating locally keeps me physically healthy. But I cannot honestly say the work is easy or fun. In a culture where easy and fun are omnipresent, few people choose to do things the hard way. I just happen to be one of them.