InvestigateTV and Bankrate published a report this week that lays out exactly how home builders are trying to keep a collapsing market propped up. It’s not creativity. It’s not generosity. It’s a controlled way to mask a scam that depends on buyers looking at the monthly payment instead of the truth behind it.

Some people never get asked how they are doing. They look steady, they stay quiet, and people take that as proof that nothing is wrong. Most of the time it isn’t cruelty. It’s habit. People get used to the ones who never fall apart in public. They assume silence means stability. They assume steady means fine.

Black Friday is the one day of the year when the country shows you exactly what it’s willing to discount and exactly what it’s not. It cuts the price on anything useless, disposable, or irrelevant, and keeps the real cost of American life nailed to the floor. The holiday isn’t about savings. It’s a scoreboard. It shows you what this place thinks is optional and what it intends to hold hostage forever.

Every farm has one animal that quietly tells the truth. Not the loud truth. Not the kind you hear in a panic or a fight. The truth that sits in the back of the hutch and waits for you to notice it. For us, that’s Radish.

Most modern work disappears the second you stop doing it. Close the laptop and everything you did that day evaporates. The emails vanish into a thread no one will ever read again. The calls blur together. The tasks get logged, forgotten, and never seen afterward. You can grind through ten hours and have nothing to point to except exhaustion and a digital footprint that doesn’t matter to anyone, including you.

Thanksgiving weekend marks two years since we first came to this property. We didn’t arrive with some grand plan. We weren’t touring farms or chasing a dream. We were leaving a life that had stopped making sense and needed somewhere that wasn’t suffocating us. Being here made the next move obvious. Not dramatic. Not poetic. Just a clear break from everything that had been grinding us down.

Every year, more people are paying what could be called the tax of self-reliance. It’s not charged by the government or listed on a bill. It’s paid in the cost of backup systems that shouldn’t be necessary in the first place.

Small Business Saturday shows up every year with the same message. Support the little guy. Shop local. Keep your dollars in the community. It sounds good. It feels good. It is also a distraction from the reality that one designated shopping day will not change the conditions that push independent work to the margins.

People are often surprised when they hear that quail can be mean. They are small, quiet, and productive, but they are also territorial and quick to turn on each other. In captivity, especially in close quarters, their natural instincts to establish dominance can escalate fast. A single bird with an injured toe or missing feathers can become a target within minutes.

On November 1 and 2, our inbox started filling faster than we could read the messages. Every few seconds another reservation came through the Farm for Better sign-up form. Then another. Then another. The SNAP shutdown had hit, and people were looking for food. Each notification was a name attached to real hunger.

Since the beginning of our relationship, a simple question game has shaped how we communicate. We take turns asking anything we are curious about and always answer honestly. It started as a way to learn each other’s histories, fears, and dreams, and it grew into the tool we rely on for every big decision. From choosing to sell our dream house to starting over on a piece of land, the game has kept us aligned and connected. If you want a simple way to feel closer to your partner, play the game. Ask a question. Answer your own. The only rule: be honest. 

This time of year brings out a flood of charity campaigns and public gestures. Every crisis brings out the same kind of statement: “We’re partnering with the community to help those in need.” Then you read the fine print and realize it’s not the business giving. It’s you.

As a farm that accepts donations, we feel it is our obligation to inform our community, our customers, and anyone we interact with how we are responding to SNAP benefits stopping.

Most people mistake stability for safety. As long as the bills are paid, it feels secure. But security built on income is temporary. This post looks at what happens when that illusion breaks and asks one simple question: if your income stopped tomorrow, what would you still have that’s truly yours?

It’s hard to believe that a year ago our farm didn’t exist. Sitting inside warmed by our wood stove, we're reminded that the farm is settling into its winter routine. The garden is pushing out its last nutrients. The bees are gathering the lingering pollen. The chickens and quail eggs decrease daily with the shorter days. 

It's in these moments of slowing down that we can reflect on the season we had and celebrate all that happened on our farm. 

For four years, we were strict vegans. Not for animals. Not for purity. For survival.

Radish is our herd buck and Beans is one of our does. She kindled nine kits this week. What happens in those first seven days decides whether a litter survives or not. People often imagine rabbits as easy breeders, but the first week is fragile and exact. Every hour matters.

We entered our first local cooking contest this year and somehow walked out with first place. The Parkersburg News and Sentinel’s annual Cookbook Contest has been running for 71 years, and this year’s theme was Cook of All Trades.

Feeding yourself doesn’t mean disappearing into the woods or living by candlelight. It means shortening the distance between your work and your food. Most people think “self-sufficiency” means living in isolation with a generator and a bunker, but that’s marketing. What you actually need is a system that produces something real and returns value back to you instead of draining it out.

Food is the first reason most people stay where they are. Every system knows it. You can quit a job, sell a house, or cancel a subscription, but you can’t stop eating. That’s the point of control.