The question is one I found an interesting answer to on a recent Saturday.  I was introduced to someone using a phrase that is maybe one of the best “who are you” answers about me

For many of us, what we do defines us to others. Carlos Zambrano and Jonathan Sanchez both became legends last year , and will now be known as pitchers who threw perfect games in Major League Baseball.  Lance Moore will be known as the Saints football player who smartly etended the ball over the goal line during the 2 point conversion play in Superbowl  XLIV. When I used to live in the city, there was an older man known as “walking man.”

I never learned his name, although most everyone in the town knew of him.  He was well into his 70′s, and would walk in running shorts, shirtless, all times of day and in all parts of the town.  We would see him beginning in the early spring through late fall.  His chest, muscular for his age, deeply brown from sun.  To the community, he was “walking man”.

There’s Bill the mechanic, Joyce the librarian, or Jeff, “the guy with the two big dogs.” In my life, I’ve been known as student, consultant, entrepreneur, producer, professor, boss, husband, dad, brother, uncle, ex, and other things that might tip the censorship of this blog to the limit.

So who am I these days? On that Saturday I found out.

Don Winslow shot this photo in Austin, Texas.

We were sitting at Bob’s barn, catching up on stories from the week when a local woman dropped off her car for some work.  She knew one of the men I was talking with, but didn’t know the rest of us, and as the introductions went around the room, when they came to me, he said,

“This is Fritz, he lives south of town, he raises ducks and pheasants.”

I guess that pretty much sums it up.

A newspaper man in 1897 wrote those lines in what became one of the most reprinted editorials in the history of print. Francis Pharcellus Church, answered an 8 year old girl who wrote him asking:

“DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
“Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
“Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’
“Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

Over 112 years later, someone who has a very special place at Two Mile wrote on her Facebook status update:

(Name) can’t even read the blogs at this point. Everyone is negative, everyone is finding fault with some group or another, everyone hates someone or something … the government is busilly screwing everyone … we’re being manipulated by retailers to buy, buy, buy when the whole country is broke, broke, broke … Merry effin’ Christmas.

I’ll refer to her as my “Facebook friend”  and she and her partner live quite a distance from  Two Mile Ranch.  Her gifts and emails  have made such a difference in the daily life here that I took her comments to heart. I wondered if I, too, agreed, with what she writes.  And yes, much of what she shares is true of the blog-o-sphere.  Many days, I look at my life through the same “smudge colored glasses”, seeing only the bad, the broken, and the criminal of life.

So many of us wrestle with our demons during 11 months of the year, and in this tough year, its hard not to let the demons rule all 12 months.

The view from the big cabin

But if I could give a Christmas gift to my Facebook Friend, I would invite her and her partner to Two Mile for the day.  We’d begin letting Zinger out for a morning run.  Zinger, the Aussie Shepard, has the breed quirk of curling her lip and bearing her teeth in an adorable smile first thing in the morning, when I see a smile like that, it’s hard to think about double digit unemployment.

Then, we’d go to the chicken coop, let the girls out to roam in the snow and collect fresh eggs for breakfast. We’d pause for a moment, and I’d be thankful for another friend who encouraged me in the chicken raising.  If not for the encouragement, I might have waited another year, and missed the fun and rewards of chickens.

Next, we’d move on to the duck pen, to feed the 9 ducks and let them out to wander to the pond.  In tribute to the Clement Clarke Moore poem, we could call them by name, “On Liberace, On Billy Ray” and so on….. the duck known as “Sweetie”, who I later came to find out was realy named “Hillary”, could eat from our hands before quacking (being the loud and bossy one) down behind the others to the open water of the pond.

During the day, we could explore the back 60 acres, looking at ways to improve the game bird habitat and expand and restore the pasture. The gently rolling hills are now depleted of nutrients from 18 years of sitting idle in a CRP program.  The future of making this land better and sustainable lies in the next 5 years of work. There is a mile or two of fences to fix to help keep grass fed beef and goats safe and in line. My  friends are encouraging me and we’re talking about ways we can both use the pasture to grow our small ideas into bigger and better sustainable ones. We both want to  raise grass fed beef and perhaps certify the pasture as organic.  There is much work to do and we really won’t “partner” as much as work side by side.  There is so much opportunity and promise for the future.

If we’re lucky, we’ll see some of the pheasants released this season.  I know where a few tend to hide out during the day.

Over coffee and tea in the afternoon, we could share stories about favorite friends.  Those who we’ve stayed close with, and other friendships we wish to mend. Friendships, too, are often strained during tough times, and as we grow older, we lose half of them every 7 years or so.

There might even be a discussion about how to balance the pleasures of solitary small farm living with the importance of social connectedness.

Finally, as the sun drops behind the western hill during this string of shortest days of the year, the single  Christmas tree, which has been lighted every year on the end of the dock, in the middle of the small pond, would add festive colors to the snow and ice over the pond, and up the hill to the cabin.

A passing neighbor will probably honk once or twice as they head off to holiday activities, or the chili super fund raiser for the local emergency crew in town.

But also, knowing my Facebook friend, the rush of holiday sentimentality and warmth in her heart will also be tempered by enough humor, that the day would end something like

I heard them exclaim as they drove out of site,  “Merry effin’ Christmas to all, and to all a good night”

With friends like that, I have to agree with Francis Church, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

It’s a fair question. The idea of living alone in less than 700 ft. is a far cry from typical. Readers familiar with Walden think of Henry David Thoreau, carving out his existence on Ralph Waldo Emerson’s back lot on the edge of Walden Pond. Astute readers of Walden know that Thoreau spent time in the local town almost daily, and had a continuous stream of visitors throughout the 2+ years he lived on the edge of the pond.

Like Thoreau, and others who live a rural and solitary life, I’ve found “alone” is far from lonely and often, isn’t so alone.  Saturday was a typical day.

I woke Saturday morning after hearing the wind blow beginning about 1:30 in the morning. I slept fine but no no one was blowing, meant a change in the weather was coming. After yesterday’s torrential rain, a day of sunshine would be a welcome break. Indeed, the clouds broke early in the morning and most of the day after noon was sunny and bright.

Because I teach graduate students, and the semesters just getting started, I began the day looking over e-mails and reviewing the online course websites. I made a scrambled egg burrito and look forward to a few months from now when the eggs will be from my own flock of chickens. With a couple coffee in hand, I drove north in the town to spend time in Bob’s Barn, the local meeting place where men my age and older swap stories about the week and generally look after each other. At 48 years old, I’m a youngster there. “Frosty” is pushing 80 years old, and talks and acts younger than many of my co-workers half his age.

This morning’s conversation was nothing special, but this group is covered such topics as stem cell research, CABG surgery, the economy, foreign policy, and angiograms. Today’s chat included the pros and cons of Windows XP versus Vista.  And a little bit of “tractor porn” as we talked about new machines some of the locals are using in the fields this year.

When the conversation wound down and everyone headed off to do their chores, I returned to Two Mile to move some mulch and plant my final 10 trees. After launch I spent some time online, helping a few graduate students find their way in their new course. Later in the afternoon, I picked up some dirt, and a flat of flowers to plant in the feed trough I’m converting to an above ground planter. Soon after, Norman my friend and occasional man-who-keeps-an-eye-on-the-place-while-I-am-gone, came by to do some morel mushroom hunting in the trees.

Saturday’s dinner was a stir-fry of chicken, peas, and peppers, all of which will be home grown by this time next year. With garden planting just days away, I look forward to seeing what does well in the new garden space. While Bob Wills music played in the background, my friends Eli and Caroline drove by in their horse-drawn buggy. Seeing their buggy reminded me that I want to buy some baskets from Caroline next time I drive by their home on Elk Chapel Road.

The ducks, chickens, and pheasants are all fed and watered. The sun is beginning to move towards the edge of the hill across the highway. The iPod plays Bob Wills, Asleep at the Wheel, and a collection of country music. Lyle Lovett sneaks in a tune now and then.

Just another day in paradise. Just another day at Two Mile Ranch.

Retirement [ri-tahyuhr-muhnt]: The act of retiring or the state of being retired; removal or withdrawal from service, office, or business.

You go to school.
You get a good job/career.
You work for forty years or so.
In the meantime, you find a soul mate, marry, buy a house, have kids, and live happily ever after. The kids grow up and move out.

Then you retire.

Their post is timely.  Even though Wise Bread writes “you find a soul mate”, an alternative  is a life of solitude It’s a choice that some Small Farm Life.com readers live.

Being alone doesn’t mean being lonely. Loneliness and alone-ness are two different experiences. There are excellent books written by authors who chose to live a small farm life solo, see them in the sidebar.

Living solo means making friends who are willing to help. There are just some tasks around a farm that take more than one person.  It’s great to have friends, even great to have friends who aren’t afraid to work and are willing to pitch in when you need them. Small farm etiquette implies you will do the same and return the favor.

Being alone is important for everyone, especially for creative people and “thinkers” its a critical part of the process.  Sleep is a period of being alone, and sleep is often where solutions to problems are found (aka “just sleep on it”).

Be ready for raised eyebrows.  Even though more than 50% of the households in the country are headed by a single person, much of our social activities are designed around people doing things as a couple or a group.  Dining out, going to movies, miniature golf and similar activities can cause people to take a second glance if you are alone  Fishing, for some reason, has often been a solitary activity.

Living single is not the idyllic notion of Thoreau’s Walden or the American western cowboy.  It is not better than living with others, it is an alternative.  It’s a great way of life, but not for everone and deserves careful self examination before taking it on.