2023 Christmas letter

December 2023

Hi everyone!

I’m not sure where this will go. 

If you’d asked me in March, I probably could have told you the theme for this year’s letter: mental. I saw lots of chances to play with the word as a suffix:

• Christian’s first trip to Middle School All-State Band = instrumental.
• Our slow-but-steady progress toward retailing ice cream = incremental.
• Our November trip to historical sites throughout Europe = monumental.

But, primarily, the theme was literal because the first third of 2023 felt consumed by mental health concerns.

Four years ago, amid the death throes of the meat business, I marveled at having survived the year without either Will or me seeking psychiatric treatment. A friend who is well-acquainted with such called me on it, wondering why I’d depict seeking treatment as some kind of failure or concession.  He was right to do so, and I apologized immediately.

While the details of this year’s encounters are not mine to tell, I do feel compelled to share one thing they taught me, and that is this: I believe the vast majority of modern-day churchgoers respond to mental illness with compassion. But the attitude historically held by the church, writ large, has not been helpful; on the contrary, it’s highly problematic.  And as a result, too many God-fearing folks faced with mental health crises today still feel shamed into silence, and silence aids understanding and destigmatization not. at. all. 

I didn’t fully appreciate this until a different  friend–one with absolutely no religious background–innocently asked me how my holidays had been. “Well, actually,” I began, “[all the details that aren’t mine to tell].” To the news that the person was hospitalized, my friend instantly replied, “Good for [them]!” The words and the earnestness with which she said them were so refreshing! And so different from the wince, or the hushed, apologetic tone I might have expected from a church person (and that would likely have been my own reaction, even though my first friend had called me on it three years earlier)! These things are so deeply ingrained; here’s to doing better. 

I didn’t know how that mental health stuff would all end up, but by April, everyone was on the road to recovery and I still haven’t found a replacement theme. So I’ll say it again: I’m not sure where this missive will go. But you’re welcome to read along and see!

Just a few days into the new year, we received an email with the subject, “I want to work for you.” I followed up and discovered a young woman from Sioux Falls who had spent the first 14 years of her life in a Hutterite Colony in northern South Dakota, who missed farm life and had been educating herself in regenerative ag, and who had come across our products in a local health foods store. She was offering to help on the farm one day a week, in between her otherwise busy schedule of nursing school and work.

Will and I sent her a list of possible tasks she could help with and I read her responses aloud at supper one night. After responding affirmatively point by point to each item on our list, she summarized, “I love physical labor and being outside and doing things that are repetitive so I am interested in all of the tasks you mentioned.”  I looked up from my reading to see six wide eyes and three gaping mouths. “Hire her!” the boys urged. So we did.

This relationship proved a real gift to me. The woman (I’ll call her L) was down-to-earth, pleasant, reliable and hard-working. But beyond the help she provided–washing eggs; planting, weeding, pruning and picking berries; sorting meat; and working with Christian at the Freeman Farmers Market most weeks from June thru August–we had wonderful conversation. L had no idea of our own Mennonite background when she contacted us, but we visited at length about the similarities and differences of our theological upbringing, and she gave me a fascinating perspective on colony life and her experience of having left it at such a formative age.

In the colony, L had been on cusp of adulthood; formal education typically ends at 8th grade, and 15 years is the age at which one can drink alcohol and date. Outside of the colony, however, she was still a child. She struggled to act as immature as her new peers and teachers expected her to. One of the most interesting observations L made was the way the Hutterite community fulfills the parental role toward young children; really, she says, the school teacher does more parenting than the actual parents. She told me that for her parents and four siblings, functioning as an independent family unit was unexpectedly challenging. “We were totally unprepared to have a relationship.”

So many things about her story struck me as remarkable: the flak her dad received for accommodating her interest in his own (“men’s”) work; the challenges her parents faced preparing in secret to leave; the swift and extreme response once those plans were discovered; her critique of colony politics, and of the way in which personal gifts and preferences are subservient to the good of the community. I also saw in her a compassion for the individuals within a system she personally admonishes, as evidenced by her proposed topic for the research class she was taking at the time: “Culturally-Competent Care for Hutterite Patients.”

We also shared a love of writing, and I urged L to publish her story. Her father has also encouraged this and, while she aspires to do it someday, she acknowledges that processing it all “takes a lot out of a person.” 

She needed to stop working for us by the end of summer, but I do miss her and hope our paths might cross again someday.

We passed our final inspection on the creamery at the very end of April, which meant that we made a lot of ice cream during the busiest months on the farm–exactly what we had hoped to avoid. From June till Labor Day, we parked four nights a week in Freeman (three at our usual pop-up shop location, and once at the farmers market), we attended eight different events within a 100-miles radius, and we stocked a local gift shop as well as two other seasonal businesses. This would not have been possible without a handful of exceptional staff!

Ice cream events always bring out interesting characters and one that brought a smile to my face this year was a man heavily pierced and colorfully tattooed from head to toe…who ordered a single scoop of vanilla. 

Since becoming licensed, we’ve continued to make steady, but painfully slow, progress getting our product into stores. Will’s cousin Jesse created perfectly delightful characters for each flavor, Will figured out the software to generate the nutrition panels, and our graphic designer has promised a test print of the final labels after Christmas. The first locations we plan to hit are The Co-op, Pomegranate Market, and The Cake Lady Bakery in Sioux Falls, plus one of our local grocery stores.

It was during one of my frequent stops to pick up ice cream supplies this summer that I received a powerful reminder to be kind. I was third in line at a Sioux Falls checkout. The customer at the register had two transactions, both of which included discounted items. When the young clerk failed to ring them up properly, she got quite impatient and laid into him with accusatory and belittling language. With each verbal jab, he remained silent and expressionless, as he punched the buttons he hoped would satisfy her. Two customers away, I felt helpless to intervene. When it was my turn, however, I apologized for the way he had been treated. He stared at me blankly. I politely declined a bag  for my items. “No bag?” he said haltingly with a heavy accent. And I realized that, instead of possessing incredible restraint, the young man barely spoke English. He had come from Ukraine just seven months prior. I pondered for a long time how much more profound must be his sadness, fear and insecurity than any I have ever felt. It made the previous customer’s treatment of him all the more difficult for me to stomach, but I had to remind myself that I also did not know what personal loss or circumstance might have prompted her to act that way.

I shared this story with the “dissident daughters,” a group of friends that stumbled onto each other a few years ago. I suspect our bond remains something of an enigma to an outside observer, for we comprise both married and single; mothers and childless; Mennonite and other; farmers and non; community natives and transplants.

But we hold common perceptions and hopes for this community that we all, at least on some level, consider home. Over the summer, one of the daughters shared an observation that I found particularly poignant. “This community,” she began, “requires one to harden oneself. And I don’t like the hardened version of myself.” There was no condemnation in her tone, but her words have stayed with me. I started unpacking this idea. 

It seems to me that, in communities like mine, one’s ability to be honest about the state of things is often compromised by legacy and tradition, inherited roles and expectations, piety and sacrifice. (And sometimes, by the  confusion of any one of these for another.) These invisible forces can feel like individual strands in a hopelessly tangled skein; try to loosen one even a little, and all the others tighten around it. Perhaps this is what causes a phenomenon that Will calls “rural apathy.”

In his theory, once vibrant rural communities have witnessed such dramatic decline over the years, that those who remain are desperate to preserve whatever systems and institutions they can. Essentially, they commit to change as little as possible for as long as possible. Rather than summoning the collective will required to address the very issues that threaten the remnants of a better era, these communities channel their will into actively not caring. Because caring might prompt new solutions, and new solutions imply change, and change–especially inevitable change–necessarily means further loss, of which they’ve already endured so much.

As I listened to my friend’s self-critique, I recognized that I too have undergone a personal hardening over the years, though I had never articulated it that way before. In fact, not one week earlier, I had told Christian that I didn’t like the person I had become; I felt sarcastic and unkind, guarded and defensive. Upon hearing this, Christian, in his 13-year-old wisdom, had simply told me, “Then change yourself.”

A bit of popular wisdom instructs one that, before one can truly love others, one must first love oneself; I suspect it is the same with kindness, which I had continued to reflect on since my checkout experience. For me, the first act of self-kindness I can identify is finding ways to be more honest about who I am. To grasp onto one loose end in the skein and pull, in spite of the resulting cinch. To pull against the expectations, and the piety, and the apathy, and similar dominant–and now I realize, hardening–forces. 

So while I still hope to become more the adult I always imagined I could be, I’ve concluded that any re-softening will be a slow and tedious task. And if I am ever to succeed, it will be on the shoulders of friends like the Daughters, as we help each other in a common quest to give. fewer. shits. about upsetting the system.

This year, Will and I were asked to help organize our church’s food booth at the Turner County Fair. With two sons in the youth group (the primary beneficiary of the booth’s proceeds), it made sense for us to help in this way. However, because of Will’s field work schedule, our family vacation most often lands on the weeks prior to/of the fair. So my condition for accepting the assignment was that we identify an alternate time to get away. The last half of November seemed a good possibility: the boys have the entire week of Thanksgiving off from school, harvest is usually wrapped up, and it falls between soccer and basketball seasons for the one son who still plays both.

That son is a senior this year, and that reality, along with our 25th anniversary (which we celebrated at the fair booth) prompted us to plan an extraordinary trip. Will spent many an evening crafting different itineraries, but the one we eventually settled on included Germany, Italy and Spain.

I’ll spare you my 27-page official record of the trip and rather share an abbreviated itinerary, several photos (found here) and a few highlights from each family member. We spent the first three days in Germany, visiting friends in Hanau and the tiny village of Gliersfeld, and sightseeing in Munich. From Munich, we took an overnight train to Rome and spent the next week in Italy (Rome, Orvieto, Florence, and Venice). Then we flew to Spain and spent the final four days in Barcelona, Madrid, and Segovia. The weather cooperated beautifully, and the boys were absolute champs.

Beyond the magnificent attractions we saw, I asked the family to share their personal highlights and memorable moments. Here they are, in no particular order:

• Walking the entire perimeter of the Vatican to reach St. Peter’s Basilica (thanks for nothing, GoogleMaps);
• Will being busted by our Austrian bunkmate on the overnight train while it looked for all the world like he was going through her luggage (he wasn’t);
• Celebrating Thanksgiving with authentic Italian pizza and a gondola ride;
• Entering Rome’s Palatine Hill and Forum region for the first time (and every subsequent time–just thrilling!);
• Reconnecting with two Spanish Freeman Academy students after nearly 30 years; 
• Tooling down the autobahn in an RV when Germany declared a 24-hour rail strike;
• Visiting two European Christmas markets;
• Getting swept up by the swarm of rabid fans on our way to a professional soccer game in Madrid;
• Watching the boys fill much of an evening playing card games with non-English speaking peers, and have genuine fun doing it;
• Cowering silently in our Barcelona guesthouse during what we feared was an attempted break-in; 
• The hospitality of friends and strangers alike (namely, Carlos & Merce; Alvaro & Carmin; Richard, Julia & family; Carl: Tim & Katrin: and two anonymous elderly Spaniards who took us under their wing during a shared transportation nightmare).

Next, some things I did not miss while we were gone:

1. The chores.
2. The 24-hour news cycle.
3. School-related stress.
4. Figuring out what to feed people every few hours.

Let’s talk a bit about #3. For different reasons, all three of our boys are at what feel like pivotal points in their education. Liam, as I’ve said, is a senior, and is making the most of his final year at Freeman Academy. This fall, he made First-Team All-State Soccer for Class A, then represented FA as a tenor at All-State Chorus (in South Dakota, every high school is allowed to send one or more quartets, according to its size). A couple weeks later, he took the stage as the lead in the musical, Robin Hood. Though currently in basketball season, soccer remains his first love, and he is busy preparing an indoor soccer clinic for grades 1-6 as his senior capstone project. 

(Quick recap of other noteworthy developments for Liam: He enjoyed track season and Jr-Sr Banquet last spring; he visited Bethel College (KS) in April and was baptized in May; he has a growing interest in honey production and, in the past year, has adopted a real love for singing. He likes to experiment in the kitchen and is quick to whip up a special sauce or seasoning.)

After graduation, Liam plans to take a gap year. He has considered a variety of options, but his primary goal is to earn some money so at this point, he intends to continue living at home and to find a job in the area. He’d love to assist somehow with soccer (either the FA Bobcats or the local youth league), and to participate in community events like Schmeckfest and Swiss Choral Society without the stress of maintaining a GPA. We’ve also encouraged him to think about some short-term service or other program related to his vocational interests (i.e. sustainable farming, as of now). While he tentatively plans to attend Bethel in fall 2025, he is honestly not sure about going to college at all.

As members of FA’s chamber choir last year, Liam and Solomon both participated in the annual Mennonite Schools Council choir festival in Harrisonburg, VA. One of them enjoyed it much more than the other; Solomon felt sick much of the time, as he’d predicted he would. I witnessed his symptoms firsthand, having come along on the trip as FA’s accompanist, but it took me a while to figure out that they stemmed not from Covid (in spite of a prolonged exposure the night before leaving on the trip), but from anxiety. Overall, he has done better with meds.

Just before Christmas, Solomon reduced his status at FA to part-time. He is a sophomore this year, but has increasingly struggled to find his place in the school setting. He wouldn’t choose any school besides FA, but traditional school as a whole is not a great fit for him. So he continues to go in daily for lunch, band and choir, and together we’ve identified several ways to explore other interests, both academic and career-wise. 

This is not a place Will and I ever envisioned finding ourselves or our child. And we have definitely felt the pull to do what is expected, and to make Solomon do the same. Here’s the thing: we share some of his cynicism about school in general (which is not to say we’re anti-education). And we’re tired of watching his spirit slowly die. And we see the world changing and can’t honestly say we’re convinced his best preparation for, or key to success in life lies within South Dakota’s educational content standards. Mostly, we want him to be healthy and to enjoy learning again, and the conventional classroom feels like a hindrance on both fronts. We have appreciated the understanding, even support, we’ve felt from FA administration in what has been a turbulent season as parents.

After being on stage crew for Schmeckfest last spring, Solomon served as stage manager for the summer production of Matilda the Musical, Jr. by the Freeman Area Children’s Choir, and again for Robin Hood. Other fall highlights for him were an Advanced P.E. class and soccer season (where he came *this close* to scoring his first varsity goal). Over the summer, he got himself a dirt bike that worked flawlessly…right up until the first gun of the cross country meet where he had volunteered to be the pacesetter. Somewhere along the way, Solomon became something of a master at making crepes, and ordered them as often as possible while in Europe.

Christian has made it to 8th grade; he is one of three 8th graders this year, though they are combined with the three 7th graders for most classes. Last May, enrollment at FA would have forecast a total of nine high schoolers during Christian’s junior year. With two net gains so far this year, that number is up to 11. Even so, we question whether prayer and hard work (i.e. “piety and sacrifice?”) are enough to turn things around. But in an effort of good faith, the Academy has undertaken a 9-month fundraising campaign, “Cultivate 120” in honor of its 120th anniversary of providing faith-based education from the Mennonite perspective. If anyone reading this cares to learn more about the campaign priorities (all of which we wholeheartedly endorse), or is inclined to support the effort, follow this link.

Christian’s situation at church is similar; there, he has been the only kid his age for forever and has been dragged up or down a grade, depending on which neighboring class needed the extra body more. He’s happy to graduate from Christmas Eve programs, but it’s hard to believe he’ll join the youth group next year as a high schooler!

Because of all this, Will and I felt like Christian could benefit from being around more kids his age with similar interests. Summer church camp has never been his thing (he gets it honest), and he wasn’t at all keen on any area sports camps I researched. So I put out some feelers with friends who might be interested in music camp. While I didn’t have any takers, one of my inquiries generated an invitation for Christian to spend a few days this summer in Minnesota at the home of a former Central Plains [Mennonite] Conference buddy, Jonathan. We reciprocated a couple months later when Jonathan’s mom came this way for Central Plains’ annual women’s retreat. Christian thoroughly enjoyed both visits and I hope we can arrange some again this year.

He played JV soccer–a bit of a letdown after playing varsity last year, but understandable since nearly 40 kids came out for the program this fall! He got braces the day before school started and quickly (and pretty cheerfully) figured out how to play trumpet again. He portrayed Will Scarlet in Robin Hood and was just cast as the White Rabbit in this year’s Schmeckfest show, Shrek the Musical. Not to be outdone by his brothers, Christian also occasionally likes being in the kitchen. He makes a mean eggnog and goes through spurts where he’s stirring up another personal batch of raw cookie dough every time we turn around.

I guess that leaves Will. Much of Will’s year was devoted to finishing the creamery. I’m pleased to say that this year’s board and batten exterior looks a heckuva lot classier than last year’s windswept Tyvek! All that remains is the bathroom, hooking up the floor heat, and finishing the patio area. He’s also finishing the interior of the trailer we use at events in hopes that we can license it as a mobile vending unit by this season. We’ll see. Will continues to find the ice cream business really energizing.

With no Schmeckfest to direct, and no unexpected heart procedures, he finally dusted off his composition software and is working on a choral piece intended for Liam’s graduation. He has also been really intentional about attending as many of Liam’s events in this senior year, and dreads his eventual departure. In late February, Will made his annual trip to LaCrosse, Wisconsin for OFARM’s annual meeting. He added hemp and buckwheat to his growing list of experimental crops. Unfortunately, the hemp was a near-total loss due to the summer’s unbelievable grasshopper infestation–just the latest concern for area farmers.

Will never misses an episode of his favorite podcast, “The Great Simplification with Nate Hagens” in which the University of Minnesota professor explores “the systems science underpinning the human predicament.” Guests include experts in energy, ecology, human behavior, monetary/economic systems, geopolitics, and the environment. One particularly engaging interview even prompted Will to correspond with both Hagens and his guest, Minnesota farmer Daniel Zetah.

Well, I guess now we know where things ended up. In some ways, “I’m not sure where this will go” is, itself, a suitable theme. At least as it concerns the evolving farm operation, the boys’ educations, the future of the rural community (and humanity as a whole), and my own journey toward self-improvement. And that sentiment–which I think can be taken as permission either to yield or to resist–is the one I’ll try to take into the new year.

Sherilyn, for the family

P.S. For anyone who remembers last year’s letter, the van key finally turned up in February.