We celebrated a wedding at the farm this past weekend. Daughter-Mary and her new husband, Leighton Zema, were betrothed this past Saturday at our farm. 180 people attended from all corners of the continent and one even from Dubai. Lodging was secured 40 minutes away in Chillicothe, and buses transported guests back and forth. We held a hog-roast on Friday night, a farm tour on Saturday morning, and the wedding ceremony, in dramatic shadows, Saturday afternoon. The ceremony was officiated by Mary's brother, my son, before the stone altar, bedecked with stunning flowers, and heralded by a flock of soaring, black, turkey-vultures against a clear blue sky above. Dinner was held under a large tent, sporting banners, peaks, and sloping sides, that might have been staged in the sands of Arabia. Michelle Vollman, of La Petite Pierre in Madeira, supplied an excellent dinner, delivered by 24 servers who arrived in a school bus. A band from Atlanta arrived in their own bus at noon and departed at 3 AM, leaving behind the most professional presentation of inspired dancing-music most of us ever witnessed. The weather was perfect, the farm looked beautiful, the guests were so appreciative, and spirits were high. The only slight mishap to a busy weekend was tables for the hog-roast, which were supposed to arrive three days before, showed up 15 minutes after the event started. That raised blood pressures of a few people, but most didn't notice, and the weekend flowed perfectly thereafter. The weekend was nothing short of spectacular, as I have never experienced before. Of course, when one's daughter is married, the emotional impact is high. Our entire greater family, save one nephew, was present; buildings and fences of the farm had been renovated; our home team had worked hard and effectively in preparation; pastures were green from the best growing-season ever; cows were calving next to the tent; the weather was clear and generous; guests were full of gratitude and affection; and dear Susan is my partner in life! What a collection of forces being expressed in a great melodic symphony over two days. We have never held such an occasion as this and will not again. But I kept wondering, "how does all of this happen..., where does it come from..., how did it arrive ...?" We can't live in spectacles, like this, for more than a moment, but we can reflect on how one develops a sense of triumph, of fulfillment in life, worthy of celebration. Triumph can not be purchased. It only really arrives over the long run: step-by-step, brick-by-brick, good-decision by good-decision. It happens the hard way, by doing one's homework, by expressing one's values, by daring to be who one is over a long period of time. It takes courage to do this, which is often lonely and difficult, but it claims one's virtue and enables one's voice to surface. Finding one's voice is a mysterious process, but it starts with these small steps of courage. Coupled with steps of courage would be expressions of gratitude. There is so much goodness in the difficult path of life, that if one recognizes and affirms them, the soil of one's life becomes watered and ready to sprout its unique expression.

We celebrated a wedding at the farm this past weekend.

Daughter-Mary and her new husband, Leighton Zema, were betrothed this past Saturday at our farm. 180 people attended from all corners of the continent and one even from Dubai. Lodging was secured 40 minutes away in Chillicothe, and buses transported guests back and forth. We held a hog-roast on Friday night, a farm tour on Saturday morning, and the wedding ceremony, in dramatic shadows, Saturday afternoon. The ceremony was officiated by Mary's brother, my son, before the stone altar, bedecked with stunning flowers, and heralded by a flock of soaring, black, turkey-vultures against a clear blue sky above. Dinner was held under a large tent, sporting banners, peaks, and sloping sides, that might have been staged in the sands of Arabia. Michelle Vollman, of La Petite Pierre in Madeira, supplied an excellent dinner, delivered by 24 servers who arrived in a school bus. A band from Atlanta arrived in their own bus at noon and departed at 3 AM, leaving behind the most professional presentation of inspired dancing-music most of us ever witnessed. The weather was perfect, the farm looked beautiful, the guests were so appreciative, and spirits were high.

The only slight mishap to a busy weekend was tables for the hog-roast, which were supposed to arrive three days before, showed up 15 minutes after the event started. That raised blood pressures of a few people, but most didn't notice, and the weekend flowed perfectly thereafter.

The weekend was nothing short of spectacular, as I have never experienced before. Of course, when one's daughter is married, the emotional impact is high. Our entire greater family, save one nephew, was present; buildings and fences of the farm had been renovated; our home team had worked hard and effectively in preparation; pastures were green from the best growing-season ever; cows were calving next to the tent; the weather was clear and generous; guests were full of gratitude and affection; and dear Susan is my partner in life! What a collection of forces being expressed in a great melodic symphony over two days. We have never held such an occasion as this and will not again.

But I kept wondering, "how does all of this happen..., where does it come from..., how did it arrive ...?" We can't live in spectacles, like this, for more than a moment, but we can reflect on how one develops a sense of triumph, of fulfillment in life, worthy of celebration. Triumph can not be purchased. It only really arrives over the long run: step-by-step, brick-by-brick, good-decision by good-decision. It happens the hard way, by doing one's homework, by expressing one's values, by daring to be who one is over a long period of time. It takes courage to do this, which is often lonely and difficult, but it claims one's virtue and enables one's voice to surface. Finding one's voice is a mysterious process, but it starts with these small steps of courage.


Coupled with steps of courage would be expressions of gratitude. There is so much goodness in the difficult path of life, that if one recognizes and affirms them, the soil of one's life becomes watered and ready to sprout its unique expression.

During the farm tour on Saturday morning, we discussed how grassfed meats support the environment, by pulling carbon from the atmosphere and storing it deep in the soil though roots of grass plants. Most of the guests were from out of town and don't have farms of their own to do what we do, but they can go to local farmers markets to buy grassfed meats, not only for their nutritional benefit but also for the environment's. We encouraged that.

This led us to feeling gratitude for our own customers, for all of you. We already have wagon-loads of customers who are supporting us, the environment, and their own well-being through the purchase of our grassfed meats. We are deeply grateful for you and are proud to have the relationships we do with you. It has only come over time: weekend-by-weekend, bite-by-bite, slider-by-slider... Our out-of-town visitors made us all the more appreciative of you, and we look forward to returning to the market on Sunday. 

Below was Friday evening's guest of honor.

I have been meaning to pose the following question. Would anybody be interested in buying half a beef wrapped in paper, rather than vacuum packaged? We have one customer interested in such a half but we need another to match him. We will take the beef to a different processor who only wraps in paper. Our current processor doesn't use paper anymore. If interested, please let me know.

Yesterday, I picked up four of our hogs, packaged and ready to go. The pork chops look great. If you would like to order any for easy pick-up on Saturday or Sunday, go here:

Thank you for helping us celebrate Mary & Leighton. 

We stand in celebration of them and you,

Drausin & Susan

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