Ah, mission statements. Nothing could be more intimidating to write, and potentially boring to read. We'll keep this short and sweet.
The Big Man and I have lived in cities. We have had bosses, commuted to sundry employments, encountered idiotic landlords and neighbors, reveled in accidental gems of neighbors, been thankful for 24-hour public transportation and enjoyed instant access to burritos, pizzas, karaoke and microbrews. We have cursed the crowds and gloried in the energy. It was nice. Nevertheless, all the while we had anticipated an end to this urban period; we would transition smoothly to the next phase of our existence when the time felt right, sometime in the Future.
Then Plan A fell through; followed quickly by the demise of Plan B. And we found ourselves with, basically, no plans but that Future one, the one involving the end of the urban period. We rethought the timeline; we fled the city. We bought a farm. We are going to be farmers.
Moreover, we are going to try to make as much as we can from scratch. Have a garden that will supply us with as much year-round produce as possible. Grow our own meat. Make our own jams, tomato sauces, breads, beer. Build our own furnace. The things we cannot make we will hunt for in waste streams (whey for the pigs, waste vegetable oil for the cars). Try to get the animals to do the work of a tractor, of fertilizer, of pest control, so we can spend more time sitting around a fire, swimming in a lake, and catching wild yeast.