Meet our new baby. She isn't named yet. But she is outstanding in her field. And she looks like the culmination of so many things I want for our children. If we are lucky, she will bring us unforeseen lessons as she brings us fresh organic milk and calves. She will bring us moon set mornings. She will bring us a new rhythm. She will bring us into the freshest air of every season. She may insulate us from a swinging economy and the price of milk. But mostly she will remind us again, every third day when it is our turn in the dairy, that we can begin to depend more on our selves, our creativity, the work from our hands.

I look to her this fall, a sweet symbol of our handmade life. I do not want my children mass produced in the academic industry. I don't care for those lessons nor that example. I want my children standing in a field this year soaking up solitude, immediacy, mother nature, and the innate reward of hard work.

Yes, she looks like a gift and a challenge to me. I am aware she is a beast of burden. Aren't we all? The question is, for whom do you work? This year I work with her, for my children, and to put food directly on the table for several years to come.

We could call her Uhuru and intend the Swahili meaning: freedom. But more likely she'll be named Nectar Pie or Bess or Honey. I don't care so much what we call her. She looks like freedom to me, the kind of freedom that works with in a system, provides wholesome nourishment, and serves more than just yourself. But independently, on a small scare, by hand, the slow way, and with great love.