Plain Values Magazine | February 2023 (The Education Issue)

P U BL ISHE R

WHO WE ARE...

From 2007 to 2012 we, the Millers, adopted our first three children, a preschooler on the autism spectrum and two babies with Down syndrome. We published our first issue of Plain Values in 2012 to highlight biblical ministries, share the beauty of adoption, and to cultivate anchored community. In 2018 we welcomed our fourth child in a surprise adoption, this time a baby with Mosaic Down syndrome. We homeschool our family and enjoy working together to grow and raise food on our twelve acre homestead.

Marlin Miller SA L E S A DV ISO R - O HIO

Matt Yoder SA L E S A DV ISO R - M IC HIA N A + P ENNSY LVANI A

Aaron Stutzman E DITO R IA L M A N AG E R

Nic Stoltzfus Q UA L IT Y A SSU RA N C E / BO O K K EEP I NG

Sabrina Schlabach

WHAT WE BELIEVE...

Our values are plain values, steeped in the rich traditions of yesterday. We enjoy the simple things in life. Gathering eggs from the coop, getting our hands in the dirt to grow food, and cooking meals from scratch. Sometimes we sit around a fire and share life. We strive to walk humbly to strengthen authentic relationships with our families and neighbors. And, yes, we have taken a fresh pie to a front porch and surprised a friend… we didn’t even text them before! We just stopped by, walked up the steps, and knocked on the door! Just the way our grandparents used to do on a Sunday evening. They called it living in community.

We seek to serve our neighbors. Plain Values began with a prayer, hoping to play a small role in connecting a child with Down syndrome to his or her forever family. We have checked that box twenty times—and counting—and we will not stop until the orphanages are empty! We will rest in Heaven!

P RO DU C T IO N M A N AG E R

Isaac Hershberger M U LT I- M E DIA P RO DU C T IO N

Seth Yoder O F F IC E M A N AG E R /C U STO M ER S ERVI C E

Jan Schlabach M A RC H A D C LO SE

February 7, 2023 WR IT E R – WHISP E RS O F HO P E

Darren Gagnon WR IT E R – CO N F E SSIO N S O F A ST EWAR D

Joel Salatin WR IT E R – RO OTS + WIN GS

HOW YOU CAN HELP...

Join us as we pursue a more authentic life. By subscribing to Plain Values, a portion of each subscription goes directly to Room to Bloom, our non-profit that supports children with special needs.

Rory Feek WR IT E R – JU N E BE R RY HIL L SCH O O LH O U S E

Lisa Miller WR IT E RS – T HE RO U N DTA BL E

Emily Hershberger & Daniel Miller

JOIN US FOR PORCH TIME! Every third Friday from 1:00pm – 4:00pm

Stop by, enjoy a cup of coffee or tea, sit on the porch, and visit for a while. We'd love to get to know you! We're located in the heart of Winesburg, Ohio—just down the street from the church.

WR IT E R – HO M E ST E A D L IV IN G

Melissa K. Norris WR IT E RS – T HE HE A L IN G L A N D

Shawn & Beth Dougherty WR IT E R – T HE WIDOW ' S PAT H

Ferree Hardy WR IT E R – HO N E ST CO N V E RSAT I O NS

Wendy Cunningham WR IT E R – SE RV IN G O U R N E IG H B O R

Elaine Tomski CO N T R IBU T IN G P HOTO G RA PH ERS Millpond Photography Landon Troyer Photography Ashley Rivers Photography

Plain Values is published monthly by Plain Target Marketing, LLC. Please contact us with any questions.

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contents

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February 2023 // Issue 116 // The Education Issue

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CONFESSIONS OF A STEWARD Learning Through Experience

ROOTS + WINGS Re-Imagining the One-Room Schoolhouse

COLUMN BY: JOEL SALATIN

COLUMN BY: RORY FEEK

Joel is often known for his vast knowledge of farming, but how did Joel Salatin become the man he is today? To him, experience is the king of all educators.

Rory shares the story of Hardison Mill School, the one-room schoolhouse he built on his farm out of a desire to rethink what education could look like for his daughter, Indiana.

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THE HEALING LAND Rural Free

THE WIDOWS PATH Getting Married... Again

COLUMN BY: SHAWN & BETH DOUGHERTY

COLUMN BY: FERREE HARDY

Shawn and Beth share their thoughts on how a close-knit community impacts the education of the younger generation— especially when the neighbors gather for pig processing day.

This month, Ferree tackles the touchy subject of remarriage.

Dealing with widowhood is challenging enough, but the idea of getting married again brings about unique challenges of its own.

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ON THE COVER Hardison Mill School, the one-room schoolhouse that Rory dreamed of for his daughter, Indiana, and other children in his community.

Room to Bloom Report Whispers of Hope: Sunshine for the Soul One Minute With Marlin What If We'd Build a Schoolhouse?

Prayers for the Nations: Angola

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THE ROUNDTABLE Amish Insights on: Education

HOMESTEAD LIVING Life Lessons

COLUMN BY: EMILY HERSHBERGER & DANIEL MILLER

COLUMN BY: MELISSA K. NORRIS

Two new writers, Emily and Daniel, join us this month to answer the question: "What are your thoughts on the role education plays in a community?"

This month, Melissa shares how her view on education has changed over the years, and how God used her writing career as an unexpected learning opportunity.

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HONEST CONVERSATIONS WITH WENDY Proof of God

SERVING OUR NEIGHBOR Pork Rhyne: The Pork Evangelist

COLUMN BY: WENDY CUNNINGHAM

WORDS BY: ELAINE TOMSKI

Wendy concludes the story of her personal journey to Jesus with a compelling and inspirational testament to the proof that God is real, and Jesus is indeed who He says He is.

If you haven't heard of The Pork Evangelist yet, you surely won't forget him after reading how Jesus, and pigs, got ahold of his heart and changed his life forever.

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whispers of hope

S U P P O RT F O R T H O S E W H O F O ST E R + A D O P T

Sunshine for the Soul COLUMN BY:

I WAS TEACHING IN A JAIL a few weeks ago, and one of the inmates stopped me while I was encouraging her to journal about her painful past experiences. She looked at me and said, “I could never journal about my trauma, because if I write it down, it makes it real.” As I thought about this, I realized there must be so many in our society struggling with their past, looking for a way to escape their pain and make it "not seem real."

Horrific experiences can cause us to become stuck in the past. Even if we have seemingly moved on, our minds and emotions are still anchored in those past experiences. If these horrific events happened to us as children, we would likely have little to no memory of exactly what happened. We may have a few memories that are frozen in time that sometimes creep up when we are triggered by something. A smell. A sound. A

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine—and shadows will fall behind you.”

– Walt Whitman

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Darren Gagnon

place. But our bodies know. And our behaviors and reactions tip others off that we are suffering internally.

We may get angry quickly, be unable to communicate our emotions well, or have difficulty with stable relationships. If we were hurt by someone we should have been able to trust, we can’t easily trust again.

Bessel van der Kolk, in his book The Body Keeps the Score, shares the following: Long after a traumatic experience is over, it may be reactivated at the slightest hint of danger and mobilize disturbed brain circuits and secrete massive amounts of stress hormones.

This precipitates unpleasant emotions, intense physical sensations, and impulsive and aggressive actions. These posttraumatic reactions feel incomprehensible and overwhelming.

These overwhelming experiences can be traumatic enough to cause actual physiologic changes to our brain.

We may have increased stress hormones produced, making us feel like there’s danger all around us. This causes high levels of anxiety and toxic stress, which in turn may cause illness and reactivity.

It has been said that the greatest source of our suffering are the lies we tell ourselves. When we are

unable or refuse to acknowledge the painful realities of our traumatic experiences, we are also unable to completely recover from them. The memories will persist, and the unresolved trauma will manifest in different ways. We tell ourselves it was our fault. We believe it couldn’t have really happened the way we remember it, and that we just need to forget and move on. These are lies our minds tell us to help us survive.

But they are just that. Lies.

When we are ready, and with the right support, we can revisit the past and confront the pain. This is likely to be a challenging and emotional experience not to be taken lightly. But the cure is in the pain. This means that the best way to resolve our trauma is to not ignore it or hope it will go away but to revisit the traumatic experience in our mind and process what happened to us.

A good friend of mine once said, shine some sunshine in those dark places, and they will no longer be so dark. As scary as it might be, there is something powerful about bringing things into the light. This is a common theme throughout scripture as there are 235 passages that reference light. In the Old Testament, Psalm 18:28, David thanks God for His faithfulness and His redemption. He says, “...my God turns my darkness into light.” In the New Testament, John 1:5 says, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Jesus himself used this imagery in John 8, saying “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” If you have been burying your painful past, maybe it is time to look for someone to help you shine some sunshine in those dark spaces and allow the author of light to bring healing. //

Darren Gagnon, along with his wife, Stacey, are the founders of Lost Sparrows. They can be reached at P.O. Box 751, Winona Lake, IN 46590.

Learn more about Lost Sparrows at www.lostsparrows.org.

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One Minute with Marlin THE FAMILY IS SETTLING into the house that’s going to be our home for the next three days. I've driven 500 miles, and I'm trying to catch a bit of rest on the couch before we head out to dinner with friends. Half awake, I hear a little scritching sound and little bits of creosote falling down the chimney, but I don’t think much of it. Suddenly, a flash of fur hangs down from inside the fireplace, and I leap to my feet and jam the fire screen against the opening, all the while yelling, “Get outta here!”

I cannot believe what a close call that was.

The next two days were even worse. Both of our moms and the three kids periodically had to stop what they were doing and run to the fireplace to chase the intruder back up the chimney. It was a game of cat and mouse, and our kids thoroughly enjoyed it! But then Saturday evening came. The event that we were going to was the purpose of the trip, and we all headed out the door soon after dinner. We discussed the fireplace situation, and I think I said something to the effect of, “Well, those things go to bed at night, don’t they?” We came back to the home away from home, and as I walked in, I noticed a few Christmas

decorations lying on their side by the fireplace, but again, I didn’t think anything of it. As I walked on into the kitchen, I saw a wooden star lying on the kitchen floor next to a broken plastic plate. By this time, the rest of the family had made their way in and apparently realized what I had not, because I heard someone say, “Marlin, that squirrel is still in the house—it’s got to be here somewhere!” We started looking under the couch and behind the furniture, and I checked the bedrooms. Not more than a few minutes later, someone hollered out, “It’s in the Christmas tree!” And it was game on!

We got the kids downstairs, and I realized that we had a real problem on our hands. How in the world are we going to get this squirrel out of the house? We tried a few things, including trying to scoot the Christmas tree closer to the door, which only made the squirrel leap onto the curtains. At one point, my mom was trying to keep it at bay by the front door using two sweatshirts as weapons! After about fifteen minutes and much hollering, we had a squirrel locked in the bathroom. I will say, you have not lived till every single curtain has been violated, and you have squirrel scat on the kitchen floor!

With the biggest trashcan I could find and a Styrofoam cooler lid, I marched into the bathroom to do battle—at least that’s what it felt like! After a few minutes of highpitched squealing (the squirrel’s, not mine), I emerged victorious with the angry squirrel contained and wasted no time getting outside. What a wonderfully hilarious Christmas vacation memory!

If we only had an RV! As always, may you find joy in the simple things. //

MARLIN MILLER publisher, always looking for more friends

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Confessions of a Steward JOEL SALATIN

COLUMN BY:

Learning through Experience "HOW DO I LEARN WHAT I NEED TO KNOW?" This is one of the most common questions people ask when jumping into a farm or garden enterprise. The heritage understanding that permeated deep into the culture a century ago is largely lost.

That means newbies are starting from scratch and have no rudimentary understanding about basic farming procedures.

The regular learning recipe is fairly straightforward: books, instructional videos (including YouTube), workshops, mentoring, and experience. Although I’ve written a bunch of books and now do instructional videos (Farm Like a Lunatic), I’m going to concentrate on the experience component of this educational recipe.

My mentor, Allan Nation, said experience was the best and fastest way to learn. I agree, with one caveat: the experience scale must be in sync with your knowledge. In other words, if you know little, do little. One of the most common mistakes newbies make is starting too big. Building castles in the sky is much easier than building them on the ground.

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photos by Millpond Photography

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Just for fun, let me dig into a question I received today from a first-time chicken grower.

Probably his big mistake was starting his first batch in November instead of late spring or early summer when the ambient temperature is better.

He lost half of the chicks in a week and asked why.

Of course, I’m supposed to give an answer with nothing more than that. At any rate, I responded with a list of possible issues.

Too cold. Chicks need to be around 93 degrees Fahrenheit for the first couple of days.

They are highly subject to pneumonia and almost any respiratory issue. In the brooder, you’re trying to recreate the hen’s body temperature and care; that doesn’t give you a lot of latitude. The way you know they’re just right is if the group huddles under the heat with a donut in the center. In other words, right where the heat is the most intense, you don’t want any chicks lounging. They will find their perfect warmth somewhere around the heat circle, but if they clump up right under where the heat is most intense, it means they’re too cold.

Too hot. If the birds congregate around the edges of the brooder, away from the heat source, they’re too hot. Excessive heat is generally not as devastating as excessive cold, but it still creates

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"One of the most common mistakes newbies make is starting too big. Building castles in the sky is much easier than building them on the ground." discomfort and makes the birds lethargic. Nobody wants to run around when they’re overheated.

Too much temperature fluctuation. Chicks can handle a few minutes of cold—allowing them time to run out and get something to eat or drink— but they can’t be away from heat for long. The main problem is overall temperature fluctuation due to not having a well-regulated heat source.

Typically this happens between cool nights and hot afternoons. If you set the heat for night, the birds roast in the afternoon if the sun is bright.

By the same token, if you check them during the afternoon and realize the birds are too hot, you can’t wait to adjust the heat back to night strength

two hours after dark. This is why good hovers have thermostats to cut the heat on and off according to ambient temperature.

Draft. Chicks need fresh air, but they can’t handle a draft. Fresh air needs to come in above them, not at their level. Chicks don’t like crosswinds. Once they get a few days old, you can open things up a bit more, but initially, the air needs to be still.

Wet. Nothing creates health issues in chicks as fast as getting wet. Moisture sucks out their body heat.

With all that fluff, if they get wet, they get hypothermia in a minute. To warm them up, you can put them in an oven, literally. That’s what it takes to overcome getting wet. They can get wet from drips in the ceiling, falling into a watering pan, or being too thirsty and hogging in too much water too fast.

Filth. The most common culprit here is capped bedding, or no bedding. Chick batteries with mesh floors have certainly been used for a long time, but a mesh floor doesn’t let a chick do anything it naturally wants to do. The chick can’t scratch, fluff, or get antibodies generated from microbes in a deep, hygienic bedding. Newspapers are slick, and they cause slipped tendons. They also don’t absorb the manure; carbon bedding needs to be fluffy. Other bedding material that doesn’t work: wood chips are too big to scratch around;

straw mats together and caps over quickly; sawdust is too powdery and packs quickly. The ideal bedding is wood shavings—curly and bouncy.

Incorrect nutrition. I don’t have enough time to go into all the nuances here, but this is especially an issue with either homemade feed rations or minimalistic industrial rations. The birds need grit on day one to get their gizzards off to a good start. The fast-growing meat hybrids are not nearly as forgiving as the old standardbred dual-purpose birds.

Dirty water. The industry developed nipple drinkers for a reason—they’re clean. We use them exclusively in our brooder, and they are a game changer versus the gallon jug with red trough. If you haven’t graduated to nipples yet, at least elevate those little drinkers so the birds need to stretch just a bit to get a drink. Put a wooden block or two underneath to protect the drinking tray from birds walking or pooping in it. If you wouldn’t drink it, your chicks probably shouldn’t either.

Inadequate feed or water. This has to do with linear space. You don’t need enough space for every bird to get feed and water at the same time, but you definitely need enough space for a quarter of them to access at once. They’ll rotate around at that linear access, but only if the feeders and waterers never go empty. The moment they go empty, the quarter access

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"You can read all the books about riding a bicycle, watch YouTube videos, watch siblings and cousins ride bikes, and even stare at a bike for an hour, but you don’t really know what it’s like until you get on yourself and try to ride."

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rule no longer holds because the ones that didn’t get feed and water at the beginning can’t get any later.

Empty feeders and especially empty waterers are a big no-no.

Weakness. Sometimes you just get a bad batch

them. Stressed birds seldom really come out of it; mortality is high and performance low. Good chicks have a certain feel: they’re plump, heavy, and robust.

And sometimes, it takes a couple of years before you learn how to tell a weak batch.

from the hatchery. It might have been a weak group of breeder birds. It might have been mishandling by the postal service. One year we lost an entire batch of 1,200 chicks because they were put on a postal truck on a hot day. The driver closed the tailgate, then took his lunch break. On a hot July day. Cooked

Which brings me to the point of all this—nothing beats experience. It’s kind of like riding a bicycle. You can read all the books about riding a bicycle, watch YouTube videos, watch siblings and cousins ride bikes, and even stare at a bike for an hour, but you don’t really know what it’s like until you get on yourself and try to ride.

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That’s why I’m such a big proponent of starting something today. It can be extremely small; don’t jeopardize your bank account, marriage, or sanity by starting big. But nothing beats getting some experience under your belt. A couple of failures indicate movement, and movement is the imperative of our day. Until you’ve killed a hundred chicks, you’ll never be a master chick grower.

All vocations are like this, but farming seems to have a bigger element because it deals with things that live and die. Nobody wants to go out and see a bunch of dead chicks. Or dead tomato plants.

Fortunately, we can try again. That’s better than raising kids—you only get one crack at it. That first baby teaches us quite a bit about babyhood. And if we mess up, we can’t order a replacement.

Be grateful that on our farms, we can get replacements. We can mess up on round one but fix things on round two. The most important thing is to start. How do you learn about farming? You simply start farming. Do something where you are with what you have. Don’t have any acreage?

Fine. Borrow some. Or grow worms under your sink. Sprout mung beans on your windowsill. Do what you can where you are with what you’ve got.

Nobody can take experience away from you.

While I’ve concentrated on farming in this column, I’m going to go back more than 50 years

What Would You Like Joel to Write About?

Joel is always looking for reader suggestions on which topics to cover. Please email all suggestions to: reachout@plainvalues.com

to two incidents that focused me through failure. I tried out for the baseball team in seventh grade and didn’t make it. Then I tried out for the eighth-grade basketball team and didn’t make it. My mother was a high school health and physical education teacher— great athlete. My older brother was a gifted athlete.

After my second athletic failure, I focused all my attention and subsequent education on my gift: communication. Drama, debate, public speaking, writing. The experience in failure created success in experience... in other pursuits in which I was more naturally gifted. Experience is the best teacher.

What is your gift? What is your passion? Hone it.

Put attention on it. Just like any skill, farming requires a heart yearning to do coupled with feet actively pursuing. That combination yields the most direct, efficient education. //

Joel's Upcoming Speaking Events February 12–20

Hayovel, Israel

March 7

Warwick, RI (Rhode Island Women in Agriculture)

March 17

Middlefield, OH (A Day with Joel Salatin)

March 18

Akron, OH (Local Food Symposium)

April 21

Fredericksburg, TX (Force of Nature Meats)

June 2–3

Columbia, TN (The Homestead Festival)

June 9

Richmond, VA (Home Educators Association of Virginia)

June 21–22

Walnut Creek, OH (Food Independence Summit)

June 30–July 1

Kootenai County, ID (Pacific Northwest Homesteaders Conference)

July 17–18

Swoope, VA (Polyface Intensive Discovery Seminar)

July 21–22

Swoope, VA (Polyface Intensive Discovery Seminar)

July 28–29

Lancaster, PA (Family Farm Day)

August 4–5

Swoope, VA (Polyface Intensive Discovery Seminar)

August 17–19

Swoope, VA (Bio-Fert Seminar with Jairo)

August 25–26

Marshfield, MO (Ozarks Homesteading Expo)

October 13–14

Front Royal, VA (Homesteaders of America)

Joel co-owns, with his family, Polyface Farm in Swoope, Virginia. When he’s not on the road speaking, he’s at home on the farm, keeping the callouses on his hands and dirt under his fingernails, mentoring young people, inspiring visitors, and promoting local, regenerative food and farming systems.

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column by:

re-imagining the one-room schoolhouse February 2023

"What if the outdoors is the real classroom, and kids could learn to be the great teachers of themselves?"

– rory feek

rory feek

THE ONE-ROOM SCHOOLHOUSE here at our farm wasn’t supposed to happen—it was never a part of our plans. My wife Joey was going to educate our daughter Indiana. She would keep her under her wing and teach her the things we felt were important in an environment that would give her the best opportunity to be the best person she could grow up to be—Joey would homeschool her. But when she passed away in 2016, just after Indy turned two, we had to come up with another option. And so, instead of Indiana being homeschooled by her Mother… her Papa built a school for her at home.

It began with the vaguest of plans, really more of just a thought or an idea. What if we built a school here on the farm where Indiana could learn? And that thought was followed with even more: If we’re going to build one, what if it was a one-room schoolhouse like in Little House on the Prairie?… And then, what if other children could come too?…

What if they could be all different ages, with learning differences?…

What if the kids had their own garden?… And a greenhouse?... Animals and chores?… And in time, these ideas blossomed into something even bigger: What if we could re-imagine what school is, where the outdoors, nature, and life, is the real classroom, where kids could learn to be the great teachers of themselves?

In the fall of 2017, the spot where the school is now was just an empty field where nothing was growing. A little hay, a lot of weeds, but that was about it. And then, one day, my brother-in-law Keith and I stood in the parking lot and imagined where a building might

Rory Feek is a world-class storyteller, songwriter, filmmaker, and New York Times best-selling author. As a musical artist, Rory is one-half of the Grammy-award-winning duo, Joey+Rory. He and his wife Joey toured the world and sold nearly a million records before her untimely passing in March 2016.

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go. We pointed and walked around and measured, then we picked up a hammer and drove a stake in the ground. Within a few weeks, that stake was followed by shovels, then a backhoe that poured concrete footers for a foundation. On top of that foundation, a floor was laid. Then, when it came time to build the structure, we raised the schoolhouse walls over one weekend and hung the roof trusses in an old-fashioned barn-raisin’ style. Dozens of neighbors and friends all worked together while the wives and children supplied meals and drinks, much like the Amish have been doing in their communities for centuries.

By late the next summer, the schoolhouse was complete. That one building soon turned into two, then four, then its own little piece of heaven, right here on our little piece of heaven, where my pretty wife who now resides in Heaven can watch down, I believe, smiling on it all.

Now here it is five years later, and there is so much more growing in that spot than just hay. Every spring, all around the edges of the garden, there are flowers of

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all kinds along with blackberry and blueberry bushes.

Inside the children’s raised beds are vegetables— broccoli, kale, Brussels sprouts, beets, and carrots. In the greenhouse, there are seeds in trays that the kids have started, and in the little red brooder house by the playground, dozens of baby chicks that, in time, will become egg layers and meat birds. Next to the orchard, a big red livestock barn houses goats, pigs, peacocks, chickens, a turkey, and a donkey. And further back in the field, there are rotationally-grazed cows and more egg layers. When the bell rings at 8 a.m., they will be fed and moved as part of the children’s daily chores.

We started with less than a dozen preschoolers in the fall of 2018, including my little one. This past August, we started back to school with twelve children ranging from kindergarten to fifth grade, all learning together. More than anything, it is children who are growing here. Beautiful little people who will one day be adult men and women with children of their own.

And our hope is that what they are learning here isn’t just going to help them get into college and a good job.

We hope it will help them to find meaning in what they choose to do with their lives.

In many ways, ours is like most schools. Our day starts around 8 a.m. and ends at 3. We have desks and chairs, books, lessons, and a chalkboard, but that is pretty much where the similarities end. Let me share a few examples of how we part ways with all public and most private schools.

We are fully inclusive. For us, that means that our children, though different from each other, all learn together. Over the last five years, they’ve been black and white and most colors in between, and all gifts from God. Some have Down syndrome; one has only one functioning arm; one has a heart monitor and a special dog that stays with him. And we have lots of typical kiddos too. All together. Learning and living from 8 ’til 3 every day, like a family.

Our children are multi-age. Our children learn from and with children of different ages, not just the ones in the same grade. Our age range this year is 5 to 10 years old, but we aren’t really concerned with grade levels or actually even grades on papers. We believe that our older kids have something important to offer our younger ones, and one day as natural attrition happens

In 1919, there were 190,000 working one-room schools scattered all around the American countryside. Now, there are fewer than 400 left.

Hardison Mill School at Rory's farm

and a child or two moves on to a different town or school, our younger children will be older, and we’ll pick up some younger children that they will mentor.

Life is our main curriculum. We have children who learn at many different paces, and we try to adjust to their individual needs and learning styles. Besides the three R’s (reading, writing, and arithmetic), we also include all things rural, from raising animals and growing our own food to all sorts of homesteading and self-supportive life skills. We believe that children can learn something from everything. But it isn’t enough to teach them information. They need to know why they need to know the information. Our hope is that the children won’t just learn what they need to know to get out of school or go to college but what they need to know to live meaningful lives. And more than that, to be excited about learning and see lessons and value in all that life has to offer.

Everyone is a teacher. We have one full-time teacher at the school, along with a teacher’s assistant and a farmer who integrates the animals and farm into the kids’ daily curriculum. None of the staff have teaching certificates but believe instead that each was born to teach. Besides our teachers and daily curriculum, we bring other folks (young and elderly) in to share what they know with our kids. From fiddlers to firemen, soldiers to seamstresses, everyone has

something valuable to share. As often as possible, we invite them to come teach our kids at the schoolhouse.

We call our school “the one-room schoolhouse the whole world can fit in,” and in a way, it truly is. We have always had a long waiting list of people wanting to attend the school and know that it would be easy to ‘scale up’ and add portables or other buildings, to add more kids, and impact more lives and families. But early on, we committed to taking our cues from the oneroom schoolhouses of the past, vowing to stay very small and serve the needs of our local community. This was partly to keep from losing the unique setting that we love so much. But it was also because we realized that although our physical footprint is very small, we can scale our impact digitally. Through the internet we have the opportunity to encourage and inspire countless children and families. There may be only a dozen children that go to school here, but the things we do and the stories that we share are impacting countless numbers of children and families all over the world. We are uniquely positioned to not only do school differently here at our homestead, but we are also good at filming and sharing the things we do with others. In turn, we can encourage others to re-imagine their lives and the education of their children. //

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What If We'd Build a Schoolhouse?

WORDS BY:

Lisa Miller

SOMEONE ONCE TOLD US, “If you are looking around hoping for someone to do something about something, maybe that person is you.”

One size most certainly does not fit all for our family in many regards, so when it comes to education, we do our best to make wise choices based on the needs of our children as individuals. Our oldest son had a few years of homeschooling, several years at a private school, and he finished out and graduated from the public school district. When something ceases to work well or needs must be met, we adjust. Homeschooling has served our family well, and we would be fine continuing to do so, but we long for our kids to have the chance to learn alongside other kids in a community where each person is a valued member bringing their unique gifts to teach and learn from everyone else. When Adelaide reached the middle of her elementary school years, I began to look into school options to make sure I wasn’t overlooking something that could become an amazing opportunity for her. I carefully researched a few private schools in our area and then made some phone calls. Most of the time, that’s as far as it went, as I was very quickly told admission would not be extended to our children.

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I was shocked.

It had never occurred to me that our kids would not even be given a chance to enroll in a local private school. After some time, talking with other families, and lots of prayer, we decided to give the public school a try. After all, it had worked out well for our oldest son, so maybe it would be a good fit for Addie.

It wasn’t.

After one semester, I began homeschooling her again. Our sweet girl was so grateful to be back to learning at home, and she thanked me every morning for the next few months. It broke my heart… and it strengthened my resolve to continue doing the very best I could for each child. We settled back into the routine of homeschooling Adelaide and Bennett and keeping up with Miles, then a

“Why aren’t there any small schools open to the rest of us who aren’t Amish?”

I even dreamed for a time of the possibility of moving our family to Tennessee so our kids could go to Hardison Mill School and be a part of their unique community of learners. Somewhat reluctantly, I had to agree with Marlin that we are rooted deep here in Ohio. Blooming where we are planted is the current answer for our family rather than attempting to pack everyone up (and all our chickens and animals) to move to another state. It wasn’t long before our “Why doesn’t someone…” changed to, “What if we would build a schoolhouse here on our homestead?”

busy toddler. For a time, I was content thinking we had done our part to investigate and try other options for education, and we could continue to use a tutor and other specialists to help each child. However, the Lord’s whispers on my heart began to grow like a tiny seed. I had learned to listen to these whispers many years ago as He was building our family through adoption. And I knew that we were being prepared for something; I just didn’t know what that something was. So, I just kept praying and trusting He would show us when the time was right. We continued to work on academic skills as well as getting our hands into the dirt of the gardens, doing daily chores to care for our animals, and involving the kids as much as possible in building and maintaining projects around our little farm.

When I read about Hardison Mill School—the oneroom schoolhouse Rory Feek built on his farm for his daughter Indiana to attend—it was as if suddenly everything came into focus.

That was it! THAT is what I wanted most for our family. The fact that Rory reimagined what education looked like for his daughter and other children within their community created a vision to make a oneroom schoolhouse a reality for our family and for our community. Maybe there were other families looking for the same thing?

Driving past the many Amish one-room schoolhouses dotting the hillsides in our part of rural Ohio, I would ask Marlin these questions: “Why doesn’t someone start a school like Hardison Mill here?

"When I read about Hardison Mill School—the one-room schoolhouse Rory Feek built on his farm for his daughter Indiana to attend—it was as if suddenly everything came into focus."

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During my years as a teacher in the public school district, I spent most of the time teaching first grade in a two-room schoolhouse in the small town called (of all things) Charm. It was charming! All my students were Amish, and many were from families who had grown up going to that very same schoolhouse. The idyllic experience of Little House on the Prairie and Anne of Green Gables—my two favorite book series from childhood to present—was something I had often idealized but never thought of as a possibility in the present day. To imagine creating a little one-room schoolhouse on our hilltop for our kids to attend with other students and a teacher was exciting and overwhelming at the same time.

At first, Marlin and I cleaned out our barn with the intention of turning it into a little schoolhouse.

We thought we might begin small as a homeschool co-op or a hybrid homeschool. Then, I came across a building for sale. Advertised as a former one-room schoolhouse that had been refinished and used as a home office, this tiny building had been built in the 1800s. I dove into reading about the history of the oneroom schoolhouses of Coshocton County, and we had

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The vision for combining both old schoolhouses into the new Juneberry Hill Schoolhouse

the cute little building moved to our hilltop. Since we knew we would need to add to this building, I began to look for old materials to match the character and timeline. It was during this search that I found another one-room schoolhouse for sale in Indiana. The second schoolhouse is much larger. It was built in 1850 and had been saved from demolition. The mortise and tenon hand-hewn beams and other materials had been disassembled and were ready to be moved. We purchased the second schoolhouse, and it was recently brought to Mount Hope, Ohio on a semi-trailer.

Marlin and I both love old buildings with stories and character, so we are thrilled to have the opportunity to build these two historic one-room schoolhouses together to restore them to their original purpose. After consulting with several agencies, we started a nonprofit organization to run the school and created a board of directors. We also determined the best placement for the school is in our front pasture, where we have plenty of space to grow, and we have decided to open as a full-time, non-tax/nonchartered school registered with the state to meet all the requirements.

Juneberry Hill Schoolhouse is closely modeled after Hardison Mill School. Our mission is to have a multiage, fully integrated one-room schoolhouse where students can succeed in a community of learners where everyone belongs and can learn from everyone else.

Our schoolhouse will purposefully have an enrollment of only 12 students, enabling individual support to be given to students across all levels of academics. We will use books and paper rather than screens, hands-on experiences rather than videos, and our schoolhouse will be a place where the gardens, pastures, and outdoor spaces are just as much a part of our learning classroom as the space within the building.

We ask that you please join us as we pray for the students and families who will join our community of learners, the search team working on finding a teacher, and the builders preparing Juneberry Hill Schoolhouse for our first batch of students.

Thank you so very much! //

Mark Your Calendars!

On June 20, 2023 Juneberry Hill Schoolhouse will be hosting a VIP benefit dinner with Rory Feek as the keynote speaker. Tickets will go on sale soon, more details to come.

You can also enjoy an evening of storytelling and music with Rory at the 2023 Food Independence Summit in Walnut Creek, Ohio on June 21. Ticket sales for that event will also benefit Juneberry Hill Schoolhouse.

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AMISH INSIGHTS ON: EDUCATION

This Month's Question: What are your thoughts on the role education plays in a community?

Answered by:

Emily Hershberger & Daniel Miller

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Emily: About twelve years ago, as we were pursuing an adoption we were on the phone with a potential birth mother. The conversation was going well when the question came up, will you be able to provide college and higher education for my child? A valid question, and one she had the right to ask—but a bit difficult for us to answer.

The temptation was there to give vague reassurances, but these women deserve our complete respect and honesty, so we did our best to explain our reasons for not pursuing higher education. Did our answer help her make the decision to not choose us? We’ll never know, nor does it really matter.

This question is often asked, and I remember as a teen talking to my parents about it, wondering what the reasons are. As an adult now, it is so plain to me, and I’m grateful for the wisdom our forefathers had.

They saw that a church and community function the best when we’re all on one level. There is no one on a higher tier who intimidates others and makes them feel like they are a lesser person. Almost every time in church, we hear about holding others higher than ourselves, and people having various degrees could definitely affect that.

Norman Rockwell’s painting Breaking Home Ties has always moved me. As a child, I would analyze it, trying to figure out what thoughts the father and the son are having. This painting depicts the threat of what higher education can do to our families and, ultimately, our communities. In the painting, the son, dressed in a brand-new suit and shiny shoes, looking fresh-faced and eager, is seated beside his father, obviously waiting for a bus to take him to the university. His suitcase and books are between his legs, and he’s holding a food parcel that his mother probably lovingly fixed. His father is a man of the land. He is no stranger to hard work by the looks of his hands, and he is not watching for the bus. He might be thinking that the boy is making something of himself, but I always felt he knew and grieved for what was being lost. Eventually, the cows will be sold, the Farmall M will languish in the shed, and

A rendition of Norman Rockwell's "Breaking Home Ties"

"...the son, dressed in a brandnew suit and shiny shoes, looking fresh-faced and eager, is seated beside his father, obviously waiting for a bus to take him to the university... I tend to be a bit fanciful, but I see this as what happens when they leave the farm for more education: they will not be back." he himself will move to town. Even the dog is feeling the change and has his head on the son’s knee, looking soulful, knowing his pal is leaving and will likely not return. I tend to be a bit fanciful, but I see this as what happens when they leave the farm for more education: they will not be back.

"...if this birth mother could have lived in our community for a while, she would have rested easy, knowing her child would get a worthy education, just one that looks a bit different."

Now lest anyone think that we don’t care about education and that as long as we know the basics we’re happy, let me clarify. The first Amish parochial school in this community opened its doors in the late 1940s in Wayne County, with Alma Kaufman as its teacher.

Soon a few other schools followed. Although not legal according to the statutes of the State of Ohio, the schools stayed open because public opinion supported them. Then in 1972, attorney William B. Ball, representing the National Committee for Amish Religious Freedom, took a case involving parents in conflict with the State of Wisconsin to the United States Supreme Court. Mr. Ball, an expert in constitutional law and religion, presented our case, now known as Yoder v. Wisconsin, to the court.1 In a 7 to 0 vote delivered by Chief Justice Warren Burger, the high court held that the First and Fourteenth amendments prevented the states from compelling us to attend formal high school to the age of sixteen. A point of interest to me is that Chief Justice Burger and Associate Justice Harry Blackmun both attended the same rural one-room elementary school outside of Saint Paul, Minnesota.

Now our schools became legal, and many more were built. I should add that in 1960, when our local rural one-room schools were closed in favor of

central consolidation, many were purchased by the neighboring families and continued as parochial schools. I attended one of those schools.

Right now, there are approximately 70 schools in our community, with some children attending the small local public schools. Though we only go through eight grades and have a 160-day school year versus 180 like the public schools, most view it as the ideal window of opportunity to teach our children as much as possible. These eight years are formative academically and socially, and much is crammed in during this time.

To be honest, there are some very lackluster schools where proper grammar is sadly lacking, and I’ve heard someone say that it’s the “dumbing down of the Amish.” But mostly, we have wonderfully dedicated teachers who put in all their efforts to create a safe and creative environment for their students. As a parent of children who have attended both public and parochial, I have concluded that while both have pros and cons, there is much we as parents can do to foster the thirst for learning.

I was fortunate to grow up in a home where I had all the tools I needed to keep on learning. Books, books, and more books! We had anything from Fire in the Zurich Hills by Elmo Stoll to Death in the Long Grass by

1) For more information on this, read Elam Stoltzfus' "History of the Amish Parochial Schools" articles at www.plainvalues.com

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Peter Hathaway Capstick. Childcraft: The How and Why Library, volumes 12 & 13, got me interested in history, and field guides gave us the resources we needed to identify things. With much of our continued learning coming from books and magazines, I like to think we remain more open-minded because we don’t just read things that we know we agree with. Education is a broad field, and we need a broad mind. Not as Ernest Hemingway said of his hometown in Illinois, “Where the lawns are broad and the minds are narrow.”

The adoption wasn’t meant to be, but it’s nice to think that if this birth mother could have lived in our community for a while, she would have rested easy, knowing her child would get a worthy education, just one that looks a bit different.

Daniel: Ask an Amishman in a straw hat about education, and he’ll likely glance at you from under a raised eyebrow. It’s not hard to figure out why. In opposition to the mainstream uber-education mindset, the Amish deliberately choose 8 grades of basic schooling. Those 8 grades represent the education under my own straw hat, so my understanding of America’s advanced academic hierarchy is sketchy.

I’m familiar, though, with how the Plain Community schools operate. After all, I’m one of us.

The differing models of education have been a source of serious contention in the past. A momentous ruling by the Supreme Court in 1975, Yoder vs. Iowa, exempted the Amish from state compulsory attendance beyond 8 grades, based on religious principles. A simple explanatory sentence such as that sidesteps the emotional trauma experienced by many Amish families where the father served jail time rather than comply with consolidation. Years ago, I read an excerpt

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from a professor that still rings in my head, a snippet having to do with the Amish school system: “They reject consolidated schools’ emphasis on science and technical competence because of its obsession with present findings that discredit the past and move the world in a progressive direction (F.H. Littell, 1969).” That’s pretty well it in a nutshell.

Since then, one-room schoolhouses have sprung up in every corner of Amishdom. The classrooms operate in a structured environment. Teachers themselves are 8th grade graduates, often young teenage girls several years removed from school, who now serve as role models for their students. They teach only the basic subjects, yet there’s an underlying but

world. Creativity is encouraged, not as much for selfadvancement but for the good of all, to use God-given talents to further His kingdom.

Schoolhouses are geographically situated, more or less. Their localness to the students’ homes makes it handy for the children to walk or ride bikes, scooters, and pony carts. That in itself embraces neighborhood connectedness. In my neighborhood, Hickory Hollow School is tucked in a side hollow, just around the corner from our farm, a quarter mile away. Schoolchildren go by, morning and late afternoon, waving gaily. That, folks, makes my day. Community-wise, what more could you ask for? Their friendliness and cheer empower me to turn my day around. My waving back gives them a sense

very real emphasis on community values and attitudes wrapped in cooperative activities, obedience, respect, diligence, kindness, and an appreciation for the natural

of belonging. After all, these very schoolchildren will, in the not-so-distant future, step into leadership roles as responsible adults in our society.

So much for classroom education. There’s much to be said for apprenticeship, where graduates in their early-to-mid-teens work shoulder to shoulder with dads, older brothers, and local tradesmen who act as mentors. Encounters in tradecraft and the work arena builds on the springboard of those 8 grades of schooling. As we well know, the school of life is always in session. Take nature; its workings unravel its mysteries if we but listen and learn. Life outside the classroom is an ongoing education, no matter what age or station. Pursuing a higher level of knowledge is there for whoever is willing to go after it. Come to think of it, one of America’s most beloved figures—Abraham Lincoln—self-educated himself to national and world prominence. His formal schooling amounted to less than one year. In his inimitable fashion, he used to say he was educated “by littles”—a little here, a little there.

Despite his backwoods beginnings, Lincoln’s homespun wit and wisdom is being quoted yet today.

Personally, I’ve never once felt deprived by lack of education. People in my neighborhood and the

About Emily and Daniel Emily Hershberger with her husband and two children have an organic dairy near Mt Hope, Ohio. She enjoys farming, gardening, garage sales and a good book.

Daniel and Mae live on a 93-acre farm between Walnut Creek and Trail, Ohio. Five children, hay-making, and Black Angus cattle take up any spare time after work at Carlisle Printing. Questions and comments welcome: 330-893-6043.

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"So you see,

although the Amish

strongly promote education, we abbreviate and tailor

it to fit within the framework of who we are and how we live."

– Daniel Miller

larger community are living highly fulfilling lives on 8 grades of schooling. I see it first-hand. Having said that, the world we move in does require professionals. We rely on doctors and surgeons, lawyers, veterinarians, and other professions that demand hard-earned doctorates. While the Amish tap into uber-education in this way, our career choices are at the opposite end of the spectrum. At the same time, we recognize and applaud the expertise of these highly skilled and trained professionals.

So you see, although the Amish strongly promote education, we abbreviate and tailor it to fit within the framework of who we are and how we live. “…that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty” (1 Timothy 2:2b). //

Submit Your Questions!

If there's a question you'd like The Roundtable to answer, email it to: reachout@plainvalues.com or mail it to: The Roundtable, P.O. Box 201 Winesburg, OH 44690

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COLUMN BY:

Melissa K. Norris

Homestead Living LIFE LESSONS

SITTING ON THE WOODEN GYM FLOOR, I stared at the stands filled with parents, family members, and friends from my hometown. The scholarships were being announced. With each one, I held my breath, waiting to see if I would be the recipient.

Ever since I was eight years old, I knew I wanted to be an author when I grew up. I took college English courses through high school and graduated third in my class. I was a cheerleader, participated in 4-H and student council, and worked a full/part-time job before and after school and on the weekends. All the things they tell you to do for college and scholarships.

As each scholarship was awarded, the lump grew in my throat. Every scholarship was being awarded to the same two people in our class. Surely they’d begin to call other people’s names. One, even one would let me start a semester.

Hope swelled past the lump—the last scholarship was announced.

Tears burned my eyes, but I managed to hold them until I slid behind the driver’s seat. Sobs burst forth, filling the front seat of my hand-me-down Ford Tempo.

My dreams of going to college evaporated faster than the tears coursing down my cheeks.

Later that summer, I asked one of the committee members while I waited on his table why I hadn’t been chosen for any of the scholarships

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and was told, “Oh, we knew your dad could help you pay for college.”

Too embarrassed to correct them, I finished clearing the table. The reason I’d worked through high school was that my parents didn’t have extra money.

In fact, I was given $100 a year for school clothes and supplies, including shoes, underwear, any coats I might need, and my cheerleading uniform because that was all my parents had to give me. This meant I worked from the time I was fourteen years old to help pay for my own clothes, as even in the late '90s, you couldn’t stretch a hundred dollars to cover all your shoe and clothing needs for a year.

A few months later, I started attending a local writer’s group. Each Monday, we’d meet at a local restaurant and read our work out loud to one another.

We’d share feedback, cheer each other on as we submitted our writing to various publishers and agents, and offer a shoulder when we got rejected.

I purchased books on writing, character development, and story arc, carefully reading each one and applying it to my stories. After work at the pharmacy, I’d plunk away on the used computer tucked into the corner of the single-wide trailer my husband and I lived in.

I attended writer’s conferences, plotting which sessions would serve me the best and which literary agents matched my genre and style the best. Then it happened: an agent asked me to submit my entire novel after reading the first three chapters of the book.

Every day I would check the mailbox for her reply.

Finally, my self-addressed stamped envelope appeared in the mailbox. A late summer breeze toyed with my hair, and golden light spilled over her response.

Unable to wait until I got back to the house, I opened it. As I read, my pace slowed on our gravel driveway until I stopped. My hand fell to my side.

“There’s nothing wrong with your manuscript or writing style, it’s simply not strong enough for publication.”

If my characters were weak, I could fix them. A plot twist, pacing, any of that I could and would learn how to fix, but that wasn’t the issue.

I wasn’t a good enough writer.

That night I stopped writing books.

I quit the writer’s group. I packed away all my books and didn’t type a single story or work on any books. The only thing I wrote were blog posts for my own website.

Two years went by, and the niggling feeling of restlessness grew in my soul. I had a husband, two healthy children, a home, a dependable job, yet I felt something was missing. Sitting in my recliner after the rest of the house was in bed, I poured out my heart to God, “Lord, I still feel this burning to write and to do so for publication. I don’t want to chase something that’s not from You. If I’m not to be a writer, then please take away this desire and show me what You would have me do. I only want to do what You want me to do.”

"Education is important, and sometimes that is a formal education, but more often than not, it’s life lessons that teach us the most."

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Just a few weeks after uttering that prayer, I got an email from a distant relative who was an author of long-standing. She had over 80 books published at that time. Her email led to her offer to mentor me until I received a publishing contract.

My manuscript came back slathered in red ink marks. Each time I would follow her advice, refining the book. I’ll never forget her email. “It’s ready to start sending out to agents. You will be successful because you’re willing to learn and take direction.”

I prayed she was right.

In a short amount of time, I signed a contract with a literary agency. While that book was never picked up by a publishing house, I did get the attention of an editor who, after reading my blog, asked me to write non-fiction, leading to my first book, The Made from Scratch Life.

Many years, and book contracts, have passed since then.

As with many things in life, I’m now able to look back at the path I’m on through the lens of hindsight.

It took me sixteen years to get my first book contract.

Had I gone to college, I’ve no doubt I would have become a published author, perhaps sooner.

But I’m so very glad I didn’t.

I’ve had the privilege to stand on stages across the United States and teach simple living. Through my website and books, millions of people have read my words. A country girl who grew up in the mountains with nothing more than a high school education.

You see, if I had gone to college, I’m just vain enough to know I’d have attributed any success I had to that degree and my own hard work.

As I stand today, I know the only reason I’ve been fortunate enough to share with others and have them read or listen to my work is that God opened the door.

He takes the circumstances the world would say are impossible, those who feel unequipped, and says, "Let me show you what I can do."

Education is important, and sometimes that is a formal education, but more often than not, it’s life lessons that teach us the most.

The lessons truly worth learning are rarely easy.

While I may feel accomplished if I tackle something and it comes out right the first time, it is when I completely fail and keep going that I truly learn the important things.

If learning is important to you, I invite you to join me and thousands of others at the first annual Modern Homesteading Conference this June 30th— July 1st, 2023, at the County Fairgrounds in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. For more information and tickets, visit www.modernhomesteading.com May you always have a teachable spirit and follow the Lord’s guidance. //

Blessings and Mason jars,

Melissa

Melissa K. Norris is a 5th generation homesteader who married a city boy… but that city boy quickly became a country boy and turned into a bonafide farmer when they moved to Melissa's family property. With their two children, they believe in keeping the old ways alive. She is an author, blogger, and podcaster. Learn more by visiting: www.melissaknorris.com.

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COLUMN BY:

Shawn & Beth Dougherty

RURAL FREE THE LONGER WE WORK THIS LAND, the more deeply it forms the way we live and think. We build gardens and homes, fences and barns; we pasture cows, sheep, and poultry; we plant and tend gardens. And yet, in the long run, it is we, not the natural world, who are changed the most profoundly. Our visible impact on the land, the plants, and the animals signals a much more profound alteration inside us, the land keepers. We are the students, and, winter and summer, the farm gives us glimpses of who God is, and our true place in His creation.

Neighbors January has been the time for our community pig harvest for twenty years. Our neighbors Barry and Kathy began it, with equipment Barry inherited from his father, and knowledge he acquired over a lifetime. It is no surprise to find these friends at the heart of any community activity; their family is always reaching out to share—food, time, knowledge—with the folks nearest them.

The connection between our families is natural. Our farms are only a couple of miles apart by the road. Barry had equipment and knowhow; we had sons. He asked if we wanted to learn to slaughter pigs.

With Barry supplying the brains and the Dougherty boys the brawn, his garage was transformed into a butcher shop. We built a brick stove to accommodate two cast iron kettles. We hung a block and tackle from the reinforced rafters in Barry's barn, to carry the weight of several hogs. The long wooden scalding trough and maple harvest table took up their places against the wall under a row of iron meathooks and

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singletrees of various sizes. Five weanling pigs moved into a tidy pen in the barn.

That summer and fall, we were up and down the hill to Barry's every day or so. We carried buckets of kitchen scraps to feed our new charges, bushels of garden wastes and corn shucks, gallons of tomato peels and apple cores from our food preservation tasks. Skim milk and buttermilk were welcomed enthusiastically by our fast-growing porkers. Our families took turns cleaning out the pig pen, keeping the water trough full. The pigs grew big, and then bigger.

Patterns When January came, we got our first lesson in largeanimal harvest. That winter, Barry taught us to butcher hogs; we've held a January hog butchering ever since.

Long custom passed down to our children has given our work a set pattern, a predictable schedule; you could almost say a ritual.

On Thursday evening, the men—who have eaten an early dinner—gather about five o'clock in Barry's big barn.

By eight, there are three hogs hanging from the rafters; there, they will cool until the meat is firm enough for cutting. Nothing else can be done tonight, so everyone goes home to grab as much sleep as possible before an early morning start and a busy day.

Friday, business gets underway as soon as it's light, the frosty air crisp with a sense of festival exertion.

Breakfasts eaten hastily at home will be made up for in a couple of hours when hot coffee and cinnamon rolls are brought out from the farmhouse kitchen. Right now, though, all is business. As the heavy sides are taken down from their hooks, the children—today this is a new crop of young ones, the children of the original children—stand to one side, sorting through a collection of butchering knives, looking for familiar favorites. These are the up-and-coming butchers, learning their trade from their elders. At the moment, their toes are cold, even through two pairs of socks, and they jostle and shiver; at lunchtime, they'll run sleds down the hill while the men eat their meal.

Everyone knows the business. Knives flash, saws buzz, and in a short time, the two long harvest tables— one is a split maple trunk on legs, a foot thick and two feet wide—disappear under layers of chops, bellies, and racks of ribs. Huge hams and shoulders stand up like small mountain ranges; neat stacks of hocks are 38

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ricked like firewood. On the big stove, two cauldrons are heating, one of steaming water, the other ready to receive ground fat to be rendered into lard.

At the second table, children line up alongside a mound of bones, their job being to cut trimmings into chunks for the grinder. Buckets at their feet will fill with scraps, lean meat for sausage, some of the fat for the lard kettle. As fast as the children process one pile, another appears, but with so much help, the job moves quickly.

Taking It All Apart In a few hours, the men have all six sides broken down into primal parts, and the work of piecing, sorting, and wrapping begins. Lard is simmering in the big iron kettle. The children have stood down both sides of the long butchering table, cutting meat for sausage, exchanging things: knives to be sharpened, goodnatured insults, well-worn jokes. Lunch is plentiful and festive but hasty; all the cuts must be wrapped and labeled by dinner, because two more hogs still wait in the barn. Tomorrow we'll process these as well. Then we'll grind and season sausage, salt bacons and hams.

If we finish early, there will be time for sledding before the big harvest supper that proclaims the end of our labors, the gratitude for these gifts. This year's annual community pig slaughter will be over.

Putting It Together Old friends though we are now, we'd be hardpressed to explain what originally drew us together.

Church, maybe, but lots of other folks go to our church.

Neighborhood, yes, but there are other neighbors, many, who don't raise pigs with us. Maybe it's farming that really draws us into an identifiable community: the lessons of taking food from the land, gardening, tending animals, and food preservation. Seeing ourselves fed directly from the generosity of God, and knowing we have to cooperate if we are to enjoy His generosity­— maybe these things give us an alignment of vision, a similar viewpoint, a mutual understanding.

On the farm, education, like community, happens without thought, even without reflection. So many different tasks are required just to meet day-to-day

necessities, and no one is exempt. The children have grown up knowing no other way of putting meat on the table, and today they are experienced butchers.

Today's adults, who not-so-long-ago were the children, are now the ones who use the rifle and skinning knife, and we of the older generation marvel at their speed and skill.

Whatever the glue is, this is Neighborhood. Being home folks, we learn from those closest to us. We have to make our celebrations happen here, where we live; and that means with other folks of Here, too. Festivals just naturally spring up around work and harvest, haymaking and bonfire, and hog slaughter and good food. These things are our response to the needs of our physical place, these hills where we have settled, and—we all know deeply—they are how we are fed and made whole. //

Shawn and Beth Dougherty live in eastern Ohio, where their home farm is 17-acres designated by the state as "not suitable for agriculture." Using grass as the primary source of energy, they raise dairy and beef cows, sheep, farm-fed hogs, and a variety of poultry, producing most of their food, and feed, on the farm. They are also the authors of The Independent Farmstead, published by Chelsea Green Pub.

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COLUMN BY:

Ferree Hardy

Getting Married...

Again

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"WILL YOU GET MARRIED AGAIN, MOM?" one of my children asked me the night before Bruce’s funeral.

Yes!—the night before the funeral!

I was startled and caught completely off guard. Romance and remarriage were the furthest things from my tattered mind that day.

“No,” I whispered, firmly shaking my head. I was pretty sure I was sealing my future, and I was fine with that. No one could replace my husband. My child’s question was justified, though; after all, if I had a new husband, they’d have a new dad. They had a right to ask.

Since then, I’ve discovered that a widowed person’s possible remarriage is a question many people are interested in. Some will even say at the funeral, “You’re young, you’ll get married again.” I suppose they mean it as a comfort, but it’s like barging in and throwing salt on an open wound. Others take the opposite extreme; they don’t say a peep, but you know they’re watching.

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As if losing your spouse isn’t enough, suddenly, the widowed person is on stage—the star of a sad, sad story while people watch and take notes. I was truly blessed with a church family who didn’t do that. Occasionally though, others wanted to play matchmaker. One time a very distant relative even called to tell me he’d had a vision of who I would marry! (I’m so glad he was wrong.)

Considering remarriage is truly very awkward for all widowed people. It’d be so nice if all of this could be done in private. If only the widowed person’s life wasn’t so interesting to everyone! But there’s always the gossip grapevine. So let’s bring some balance and rationale to the conversation by looking at three viewpoints. Focus on these things, never mind the grapevine.

Scriptures on Remarriage The Bible says remarriage is usually alright for widowed people as long as they are both in the faith.

(See 1 Timothy 5). However, the Apostle Paul wrote that it’s “good to stay unmarried.” (1 Corinthians 7:8).

Therefore, remaining single is alright too. Remarriage isn’t mandatory. Widowed people have a choice. If you want to get remarried, that’s fine; but it might be better not to remarry. I’m sorry if that evaporates romance and roses from our ideas of remarriage, but a second marriage must be approached a little differently. This time you won’t be starting from scratch. Instead, you’ll be combining two estates. You’ll probably have children, property, businesses, and the experiences of your first marriage to blend in. This is where people in your community can help.

Other People's Opinions I am all for people minding their own business, but there are some you should listen to when considering remarriage. Confer with trusted adult family members who know you well and will put your best interests first.

If they are alarmed at the thought of your remarriage— or by the person you want to marry—calmly ask for their reasons. Often, they can see things that you cannot. With repeated conversations, work through these things before making a commitment. If you’re reluctant to listen to them, ask yourself what causes that reluctance.

Consider the children still at home. Listen carefully to any concerns. Make sure they feel they are not hurting you if they speak freely. Imagine how 42

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you would feel and the questions you would ask if your parent wanted to remarry. Will I have to move?

Will there be new rules and chores? New brothers and sisters? Will I have to call them “Papa” or “Mama?”

Adult children will have similar questions. In addition, they may want to be assured that you, yourself, will be safe, that assets are protected, and that everyone is treated fairly with inheritances and such. A prenuptial agreement can help safeguard both parties; it’s not unreasonable to consider one.

Ask your pastor, counselor, or godly friends for their insights. They might know how other people fared in similar situations and can give you good guidance.

Of course, most of us have contrary, stubborn, and controlling characters in our lives, whether they are children, parents, or others. Sometimes these people need to be called out; sometimes we need

"Generally, it’s good to get through the first year of widowhood before making any irreversible decisions.

There should be no pressure to rush into marriage." to pause and give weight to what they say. Take their negativity into consideration, but above all, seek God’s peace. God can use their callousness to strengthen your faith and commitment and buy some needed time. Generally, it’s good to get through the first year of widowhood before making any irreversible decisions.

There should be no pressure to rush into marriage.

Your Own Opinion You matter most of all. Know yourself well. I often tell my widow friends that if they had a good marriage and knew their part in making that happen, they would be a wonderful wife for just about any man on the planet.

BUT—I add—not just any man will be a wonderful husband for them. They must carefully consider their choices.

I’m not saying that there’s only one man meant for one woman. I agree with one of my former pastors who

Ferree and Tom Hardy

said that although that’s how it was for Adam and Eve, for the rest of us, that’d be illogical. Think about it: if God created only one person in the world to be your one true love, then it would take only one person to marry the wrong person, and mess up the whole system.

Marriage isn’t romantic magic: it’s a loving commitment.

Do you want to remarry? Are you ready to remarry?

If you’re so lonely that you’re desperate to remarry, then you’re not ready. That’s not love, and it’s not fair to the other person. Be patient. A bad marriage is worse than widowhood, and your community can help spare you from it.

My Story Some people decide not to remarry. That’s what I did. I wanted to move forward with my life. I went back to school to train for a career, and I found house plans for my future home. I began to feel a little bit happier and a lot more hopeful. Yet, something still wasn’t settled. I felt a growing discontentment.

To counteract it, I committed to pray for contentment. But God didn’t answer; the discontent got worse.

In my book, I relate the almost comical scene of me figuratively knocking on heaven’s door, begging Him to speak. I say comical, but really my heart was breaking.

It’s a hard chapter in life when God is silent. I resolutely kept praying anyway.

Several months later, God led me to a widower, Tom Hardy, who eventually asked me to marry him.

February 17 is the anniversary of his proposal. Without my knowledge, he’d made sure that my three children were home, and he asked me right in front of them! I was so surprised! We’d talked, but I hadn’t expected him to move so quickly. I said, “Yes,” but then I burst into tears and ran up to my bedroom. There, by myself, relief from all the stress of widowhood flooded me. Then Tom burst through the door, and I bawled in his arms for about twenty minutes. Tom didn’t know what to think, but we’ve both been bearing with and loving each other ever since.

Remarriage doesn’t solve everything; in fact, we found that it created challenges we never expected. We had to commit to never compare each other to our first

spouses, to refrain from blame and regret, and to equip our marriage with Christian retreats and seminars. Tom went from a lifetime in his hometown to moving and changing jobs several times. I dropped out of graduate school and began writing for widows. I wouldn’t be writing to you today without him, and he wouldn’t have had so many interesting moves and jobs without me.

Getting married again isn’t for everyone. But if you are considering it, follow what the Bible says about remarriage. Ask for the counsel of family and friends who know you well. Pray and patiently wait until you and that right person are really ready. God never fails.

Whether you marry or remain single, He loves you and has given you a good purpose on the widows’ path. // Until next month,

ferree l

To learn more about widowhood, order a copy of Postcards from the Widows’ Path—Gleaning Hope and Purpose from the Book of Ruth. It’s a gentle, biblical guide for widows that has many saying, “This is the best I’ve ever read!” Mail a check for $14.99/copy (paperback, 248 pgs.), along with your address to: Ferree Hardy, 76 Grace Ave., Ticonderoga, NY 12883. Please allow 2-3 weeks for delivery. Free shipping for all Plain Values readers!

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COLUMN BY:

Wendy Cunningham

Honest Conversations with Wendy PROO F O F G O D

PART IV

I THOUGHT I HAD BECOME A CHRISTIAN. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, my first conversion was to theism—the belief in God. And in many ways, I had become as “Christian” as many folks ever become—lumping everything together with a general understanding. If God was King of the universe and He said His son was Jesus, who was I to argue? But I quickly came to realize what I’m not sure the Church at large has figured out: sometimes we believe completely, but don’t completely know what we believe.

That was me. Once I got over being wrong (or maybe more aptly stated, misled) and surrendered my life to God, my husband pointed out there was a difference between my Father in Heaven and Jesus, my Savior. We know them as two separate parts of the Trinity—the Godhead—but do we know them separately and specifically?

Because I had spent so many years debating and considering God’s existence, it was easy to just include Jesus in the equation. If God’s real, Jesus is real. End of story.

But with Jesus comes the proof of God; He is the tangible element of our faith.

We don’t want to miss out on that. It’s worth the extra studying, I promise. And as I’ve mentioned in a previous article, there are a lot of questions swirling around— things our kids are wondering about Jesus (if we’re not wondering ourselves). How can we be sure Jesus is the Son of God? Did He really rise from the dead? What proof do we have? Avoiding these key inquiries inspires doubt. But here’s the greatest news: There are answers! There is proof! And it’s compelling!

"Sometimes we believe completely, but don’t completely know what we believe."

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"Jesus is undeniably one of the most significant men to have ever existed. I mean, our entire calendar is based on His birth... There is just no “natural” reason He made such an impact on our culture and history."

As I began my second deep dive—the search for Jesus—I was astounded at what I discovered. The conclusion that God was real took years to reach. I wrestled with so many thoughts and feelings. However, the truth about Jesus was easy to uncover. He walked on Earth, after all. He’s wildly provable and simple to research. Even if you don’t believe He’s the Son of God, you can’t just write Him off as a nobody. Atheistic historians can chronicle His life, which is weird given that His status and standing in the world—a peasant and carpenter—should have meant that He was entirely forgotten and undocumented.

But instead, Jesus is undeniably one of the most significant men to have ever existed. I mean, our entire calendar is based on His birth. But even more, if you need a good resource and a faith booster, read John Ortberg’s book Who Is This Man? The Unpredictable Impact of the Inescapable Jesus. It blew my mind. There is just no “natural” reason He made such an impact on our culture and history.

It’s not hard to conclude the impact of Jesus must be supernatural.

But if looking through the lens of history doesn’t convince you that Jesus is the Son of God and, therefore, the evidence of God, we are blessed with a mountain of prophetic accounts to examine as well.

Now, if you’re anything like I was, you might be leery of the prophetic books. What do they prove? Are they reliable? Aren’t they like fortune tellers?

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Great questions. I’m glad you asked. First off, we have the amazing perspective of being alive in a time when the great majority of Biblical prophecy is, to us, history. We can read these prophetic words and see where they have already come to pass. Wars fought and won; kings and rulers positioned and removed; temples destroyed; nations rose then fell. All as God declared through the foretelling of His messengers.

When it comes to Jesus specifically, though, things get really exciting in the prophetic books. Yes, it’s true there are prophecies about Jesus that He could have known about and fulfilled Himself. Things like being quiet before His accusers or even riding into Jerusalem on a donkey. Surely, if He was attempting to position Himself as the Son of God, He could have managed to pull off a few of these prophecies in His own strength. But when you get into the weeds of just how many specifics were prophesied about the coming Messiah, it becomes impossible to check so many boxes oneself. I will defer to mathematician and author of the book Science Speaks, Peter Stoner, because he explains it so perfectly.

“If we take 10^17 [that just means a whole lot] of silver dollars and lay them on the face of Texas, they will cover the state two feet deep. Now mark one of those silver dollars and stir the whole mass thoroughly. Blindfold a man and tell him that he must pick up one silver dollar and say that this is the right one. What chance would he have of getting the right one? Just the same chance that the prophets would have had of writing just eight prophecies and having them all come true in any one man, from their day to the present time, providing they wrote in their own wisdom. Now these prophecies were either given by inspiration of God or the prophets just wrote them as they thought they should be. In such a case the prophets had just one chance in 10^17 of having them come true in any man, but they all came true in Christ… This means that the fulfillment of just eight prophecies alone proves that God inspired the writing of those prophecies to a definitiveness which lacks only one chance in 10^17 of being absolute.”

In the end, there is a difference between knowing about Jesus and knowing Jesus.

It’s good to believe in God. It’s important and foundational. But it is hollow without the confidence that comes from knowing what is true and why.

I don’t know about you, but I’m convinced. But just in case you need a little more proof, Stoner goes on to say that the likelihood of one man fulfilling 48 of the Old Testament prophecies is mathematically impossible. He suggests the probability is a number I can’t write out. It’s a one with 157 zeros after it. I’m no mathematician, but it seems pretty unlikely Jesus randomly hit that mark. For reference, there aren’t only eight or even 48 prophecies fulfilled in the Bible. There are more than 300. And they’re written by different authors over hundreds of years.

We can be sure Jesus was the Son of God. Now, the question becomes, “Can we be sure He rose from the dead?” Well, I would answer: “How can we be sure of anything?” Somewhere along the way, Christians stopped referring to or thinking about the Bible as history. Y’all, it’s a historical book, just the same as any other. In many cases, it’s more accurate and cross-referenced more than other typically accepted historical documents. Consider how we learn about anything that happened before we were born. We read journals, personal accounts, documents, as well as listen to stories that have been passed down. Eventually, a collection of accounts frames an event in history.

For example, we have a substantial collection of accounts from the Second World War, both from survivors of Nazi Germany as well as from Nazis themselves. Soon, we will enter a generation where there are no survivors from that time period. We will be left with only their stories—written, recorded, photographed, and otherwise—as evidence that it happened. But we’ve had nearly 100 years to collect the information from both sides of World War ll, allowing for it to be contested, corrected, and corroborated.

From that point on, those first-hand accounts will remain as a written record of what happened from those who were there, data that we now call history.

The same is true of the Bible.

In regard to the death and resurrection of Christ, I’d invite you to put yourself in the jury’s seat. Most regard eyewitness testimony as surefire evidence and proof. Read the Gospels. Study them. Hundreds of people witnessed Christ after He was resurrected.

But if that’s not enough, check out Lee Strobel’s book, A Case for Christ (as well as his many other related titles). He goes into great detail about the history and evidence of Christ’s human death (in order to rise, He must have first died) and His miraculous resurrection.

There are many things in this world to be uncertain of, but Jesus’ death and resurrection—the cornerstone of our faith—is not one of them.

In the end, there is a difference between knowing about Jesus and knowing Jesus. It’s good to believe in God. It’s important and foundational. But it is hollow without the confidence that comes from knowing what is true and why. Not just believing but trusting in the truth of what you believe. We can’t follow a God we don’t know, and we can’t lead others to a Savior we’re not certain is the Lord.

So, I’m a Christian. I now know what that means, and I know what I believe. But I’m not done with the journey. And neither are you. Actually, you and I—we’re just getting started. This is where the magic happens, as they say. Now that you know where I’m coming from and how I got here, I’m so looking forward to the honest conversations God has in store for us. // ~ until next month, Wendy

Wendy Cunningham is wife to Tom and homeschool mom to three amazing gifts from God. In addition to that calling, she is an entrepreneur and author. Her book What If You’re Wrong?, blog, and devotionals can be found at gainingmyperspective.com. She is also host of the podcast Gaining My Perspective. Wendy loves Jesus and inspiring people to step into their calling—whatever that might look like in this season. When she’s not working, writing, traveling, or podcasting, she can be found homesteading and chasing kids and cows on her farm in Middle Tennessee.

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T H E P O R K E VA N G E L I S T

WORDS BY:

Elaine Tomski

PORK RHYNE ADMITS he's been humbled by a pig. A sixhundred-pound breeding sow named Louise put him in his place and changed his life for good. While managing a farm that raised cattle, goats, chickens, and pigs, Pork Rhyne said, “I had a problem dealing with pigs compared to the other livestock, and God used that to humble my heart.”

After Louise had broken out of four different paddocks, Pork Rhyne received a call on his day off. “It was so bad,'' he said, “they had to call me back to the farm to corral her and get her contained.”

He gathered Louise into an isolation pen with plenty of pasture, space, feed, water, shelter, and straw. The perfect place for a fussy pig. Or so he thought. After closing the gate of the chain link fence, Pork Rhyne walked to his car. Sensing something was wrong, he turned to see Louise standing at the gate. Continuing to walk, he turned again to see her stare peeking out from behind her floppy ears. She’s fine, he thought and kept moving toward the car. Turning one last time before entering his vehicle, he witnessed Louise bellow, screech, and charge the gate. Lifting it off the hinges, Louise threw the gate twenty feet into the air! Free once again, she trotted to Pork Rhyne’s side with grunts of victory. “I realized she was out of my control. That’s when God humbled my heart. I got down on one knee, grabbed Louise by her chubby cheeks, and said, ‘You know what, Louise? I’m going to love you so hard that I just might understand you, because right now I don’t.’”

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Pork Rhyne knew he had to find a way to raise pigs successfully, so he began spending extra time with them.

He sat out in the pasture watching the pigs play, tear grass out by the roots, and swim in the ponds. “I laid by them, and they laid by me,” he said. “They asked for belly scratches, so I developed a friendship with pigs. That’s where I developed a farmer’s eye.” Pork Rhyne became interested in more than just food, water, and shelter for the pigs. He began learning and caring about the overall wellness of the animals. “I realized the problems the pigs were having were actually ME problems. I was doing something wrong, and I needed to correct it.” In his research, Pork Rhyne learned that pigs are hygienic and possess the intelligence of a human toddler. As he learned more about pigs, his passion for them also grew. He developed from being humbled by Louise to a professional pig consultant and teacher.

“I realized the problems the pigs were having were actually ME problems. I was doing something wrong, and I needed to correct it.”

The Business Man Rhyne Cureton's nickname, Pork Rhyne, describes his business and marketing brand, too. Pork Rhyne uses his knowledge and testimony as a ministry primarily to small-scale livestock production farmers across the country and overseas in East Africa. Working with farmers to improve the health of their pigs, he also helps them improve their ability to create or find a local market for their product. Pork Rhyne is all about pigs.

A homesteader in North Carolina, Pork Rhyne teaches farmers how to keep their animals healthy by making the soil healthy. As a good steward over the land, he understands how fields stripped bare by harsh commercial farming need healing. The ground should be nurtured and used in a way that’s not harmful to the land or our neighbors. Focusing on the soil and the grass, he said, “As a farmer, I would make sure the grass

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and forage are healthy. Then I’d know my livestock will be just as healthy from that.”

Each summer, Pork Rhyne travels to Uganda and Tanzania with his Ugandan-born friend, now a college professor. On his first mission trip with Dr. Julius Sonko, Pork Rhyne met with humility again. In his attempt to teach villagers how to raise their pigs, he suggested they feed beans for protein. His teaching was met with mumbling by the villagers. Later, the translator explained that those villagers didn’t even have enough money to purchase beans to eat themselves. Pork Rhyne admitted, “I was humbled to realize my teachings were borderline offensive to the people listening. I decided I would never make that mistake again.” As he learned more about their resources and practices, he suggested the villagers feed shredded banana leaves to their pigs.

A great source of fiber and micronutrients, these leaves

were much healthier for the pigs than just the table scraps offered. Sometimes, Pork Rhyne must be truthful and tell the Africans that their resources aren’t enough for raising pigs, but maybe chickens. He might also suggest they focus on vegetable production until there’s enough to feed pigs.

The same problem can happen in the United States.

Pork Rhyne has mentored pig farmers only to find their pigs emaciated and near death. “We need to be good stewards of what God gives us,” he said. “If we’re not successful at going big, we need to down-size or go back to the drawing board. There’s no shame in that.” Staying smaller with pig production and focusing on profitable local marketing is precisely what Pork Rhyne has learned to do and what he longs to share with others, both in the United States and East Africa. Perhaps that’s why he has also earned the title “The Pork Evangelist.”

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The Free Man Long before he became The Pork Evangelist, Pork Rhyne was in bondage to addictions. Abandoned by his father at the tender age of eight, the young boy lacked a male role model. “In my early twenties,” he shared, “I couldn’t say I was a man.” Unable to fill his life with love and security, he covered his fears by hiding in pornography, alcohol, video games, and food. Feeding these addictions helped shield him from his insecurities about life, God, himself, and relationships with others.

Although Pork Rhyne attended a church then, he lacked a solid mentor. He felt misunderstood, like Louise. “But God showed me, through the vulnerability of one man, Jesus Christ, that there was hope for me. I had done everything in my power, but I personally couldn’t get myself out of my vices and addictions. I needed help outside of myself.”

While at his lowest, Pork Rhyne chose to attend a recovery group. There he found a community and a pathway to healing. He admitted his addictions and participated at a new church where he found loving, compassionate, and long-suffering people. He discovered men who were willing to disciple him. “So that’s where my healing began, when I started sharing my struggles, my sin, and my pain with my Christian friends and my recovery group. I define recovery as a lifestyle of transformation.” In all that he does and shares, Pork Rhyne strives to obey Jesus’s command to love God with all he has and to love his neighbor as himself. When considering actions, he challenges himself and others to ask these three questions. “Is

“Is what I’m about to do loving God? Is what I’m about to do loving to myself ?

Is what I’m about to do loving to other people?

This is how I navigate through life.”

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what I’m about to do loving God? Is what I’m about to do loving to myself? Is what I’m about to do loving to other people? This is how I navigate through life.”

These three questions make God’s will clear and decision-making less complicated, freeing Pork Rhyne from worry. “I can navigate with God instead of being rigid about how God interacts in my life.”

The Challenge of Pride Humbled many times, even by pigs, Pork Rhyne admits to battling pride. As a new business owner, he tried to do everything independently. Once the time commitment overwhelmed him, Pork Rhyne let other people step into his life to help him. Involving a community in his business allows him to do what he needs to while still caring for himself. “When I have community, my pride can subside. God did not call us to be alone.” Pork Rhyne notices the same pride and lack of community with some homesteaders he mentors.

There can be conceit in self-efficiency. What begins from a good place of relying on ourselves outside of government can turn into pride.

Some people think we need to produce everything that we want or need. In reality, Pork Rhyne suggests people need to be fruitful rather than busybodies. He said, “I’ve had to realize and teach people in my business and marketing classes that you should really set room for five slots in your life.” Prioritized in this order, he names God, spouse, children, then two places where people have mastery. For Pork Rhyne, that’s pigs and teaching. He encourages others to do their two things with excellence and depend on the community for the rest. He said, “So, whenever I’m not able to create or produce something myself, I can support my neighbor.

We cannot do everything alone or even as a family unit.”

“'When I have community, my pride can subside.

God did not call us to be alone.'

Pork Rhyne notices the same pride and lack of community with some homesteaders he mentors."

Pork Rhyne sees many homesteaders isolating and believes that’s a mistake. “God has called us to live out the Gospel, and we can’t do that if we’re always stuck on our homestead. At least we can create an atmosphere where we invite others to our homestead or where we live. Hiding away from the world does not allow sharing the Gospel.”

Life has taught Pork Rhyne that it’s okay not to have things go how we want them to. “We all have wholesome visions of how we want our lives to be, then tragedy happens, a family member abruptly leaves, a relationship or business deal doesn’t work out, or we lose money. It’s easy to be resentful. But God is still in control, even when things don’t go the way we hoped.

We need to trust God in those moments and draw close

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"A pig named Louise introduced Pork Rhyne to humility. But Jesus Christ gave him the best reason to surrender."

to people who love Jesus. We don’t need to be alone or live in fear.”

Pork Rhyne relates to the Bible verses found in Luke 8:26-37. In this story, Jesus releases a demon-possessed man by sending his legion of demons into a herd of pigs. These pigs then plunge down a steep hillside into a lake, where they drown. Pork Rhyne said, “When I first read that story, I thought, That’s so unfair. Why pigs? I love pigs! I missed the whole point of the story. A man enslaved in bondage, with no power of his own, was freed. That’s the story! I saw my own story in that.” Once enslaved to addictions, trauma, and insecurities, he says, “God used pigs as a vehicle to set me free. He gave me a purpose and a calling. I can walk in the direction of faith and peace in my life.”

A pig named Louise introduced Pork Rhyne to humility. But Jesus Christ gave him the best reason to surrender. He can lay down his will and pride because the Gospel changes everything. //

Pork Rhyne 7020 Passeres Court, Charlotte, NC 28215 rhyne@porkrhyne.com • www.porkrhyne.com

Pork Rhyne offers farm and marketing business tips and a onemonth intensive mentorship program at his website. He loves to help pig farmers build their confidence in raising pigs for quality bacon. Pork Rhyne is also open to receiving invitations to scheduled homesteader events.

Elaine Tomski is a wife, mother, grandma, and contributing writer for Plain Values magazine. She and her husband, Jeff, appreciate the beauty of God's creation from their hilltop near Killbuck, Ohio.

Elaine is the author of Pregnant and Praying, a prayer journal for expectant mothers.

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