Homesteading & Sustaining Democracy
Last weekend, we went to visit friends on a small, homestead farm in North Georgia, where, before I even knew all the children were out of the van, I turned and saw my youngest son astride a large sow, frantically trying to hold on as he bounced about.
In the idyllic hamlet, we immediately toured the grounds, first observing chickens pecking near the driveway and then the aforementioned pigs, which included a sow and her five piglets. The pigs were in a movable electric fence, and every four days, the family that owns the farm corners the pigs and moves the pen to a fresh patch of grass, thus keeping them as clean as possible and minimizing the risk of various pathogens and fungi.
While I was writing this, my daughter read over my shoulder and asked, “What is a homestead?” I explained to her that a homestead is when people attempt to live off the land, producing all they need to sustain them. What more perfect example for a column on rural sustainability?
After we looked at the pigs, we headed down the slope to a little valley where, next to a small spring, we observed a friendly Jersey cow, who, after I turned away and started to walk up the hill, she nudged me in the back, seeking a scratch on her head, much like a puppy would.
Our next stop was another electrified pen, this time holding the daddy pig, and then the barn and corn crib. The barn was host to several sheep, and when asked about goats, the owner said that he had a small herd at another farm until he could get some additional fencing.
Next to the door to the house were mounds of soil with kale, lettuces, and various greens sprouting from seed. As we walked down to the creek, we went past more beds, planted with mature tomato plants, peppers and basil.
I was surprised to find, at the bottoms near the creek, large areas of cultivation. The family of six almost never purchases produce or meat, only getting necessities such as butter and flour. When they can, they get the flour from a mill and make their own butter. One daughter has a loom where she uses yarn she spins herself to make fabric. And where does the wool come from? Their sheep, of course!
I realize this all sounds like Little House on the Prairie or something from a bygone era, but it is real. It is today. It is 2020. The parents have laptops and they watch YouTube videos and movies with their children. They are both employed as educators, yet, for one parent, the work hours are very flexible. The house is not centered around a television but instead music and other creative endeavors. The children all help with chores.
They all do their part to make their home, their property, a success.
Though few of us live in such a way, we all seek our home, our property, our community to be a success, and to that end, we all have a stake and a voice—as citizens, we have a right to select our governmental leadership.
How do we sustain democracy? We make sure that we take no more than is necessary, that we preserve resources for future generations and, of course, we vote.
We are fortunate to live in a small community where poll workers are often neighbors, old friends, fellow church members or coworkers. We are greeted with a smile at the door of the courthouse.
If there is a line and a wait, it’s not long.
After filling out a form, the document is checked along with your ID and then your form is again checked against the voter registration database. You then receive a card (like a hotel key card), and you pop in into a voter machine (that looks like a small flat screen oriented vertically).
You get an opportunity to verify your choices once you’ve made your selections, and then you print your ballot (there is a printer next to the screen). Once you get your card back and print ballot, you then give the card to a poll worker and feed the ballot into what looks like a military-grade copier machine.
And then you get a sticker.
Easy, peasy. Oh, and everyone must wear a mask and distance (there are convenient little blue x’s on the floor).
When I was there, you could feel the excitement in the air. My feeling about voting was similar to my spending hours on the homestead. It felt freeing, like a breath of fresh air. Like I was doing something good and worthwhile.
And I am certainly not alone. Three million people in Georgia have already cast early ballots.
I did my small part, and I hope you do too. Now I need to get in my winter garden!