So now we know what "clean" means

Not that we didn't before--but here's what happened:

We went to look at a Jersey cow. It was unreasonably cheap, but when we got there we saw why. The poor cow was in a dusty lot being fed some poor-looking hay and "total mixed ration." She was very thin and bony and had pus oozing from the back quarter of her udder from mastitis. I felt so sorry for her--particularly about the mastitis (I've had it before myself). She needed to be wormed and milked and fed properly, but the guy told us "It's just too much trouble for a glass of milk. I'd rather just go down to the corner store."

The people who were selling her also wanted to show off their pigs to us once we had told them we had pigs as well. So we followed them to our house to look at their pigs. In the front of their house they had an incinerator going that was burning what smelled like plastic, and probably worse. Behind that was a small, squalid and dirty pen holding an enormous hog--nearly as long as our car. A smaller mother hog was there too, as well as some medium-sized pigs about as large as our pigs are now who had gashes on them from the big boar (named "Fat boy") and running about underfoot were some weak and dirty little piglets which had the same painful look on their pitiful little faces that you see in photographs of suffering children from the third world. You are never supposed to have all those pigs in together--the little ones can be crushed and don't get enough to eat. The man was obviously very proud of these pigs.

I came away from that place feeling contaminated and totally creeped out. Looking around our farm I have a new appreciation for it. I realize at last that my perfectionist judgmentalism is uncalled for.

Not that our farm is really dirty anywhere, but there are half-finished projects laying around, black bags of leaves we scavenged for mulch, some broken toys from the children. I am constantly and vigilantly picking up little bits of trash we track in--such as kombucha bottle tops, string from feed bags, pieces of wire and rope, etc. I had pangs of guilt when we had to wait for a weekend to move our pigs to a new pasture because it was getting muddy around their waterer, or when the baby chickies needed to be moved out, but again we had to wait for a weekend when Ethan could help. Even having the chickens in one spot for a week seemed like it was asking too much of the grass and the birds. There is always the doubt, "Are we really doing this the best way or the right way?"
But it seems so petty now, having seen the squallor that is possible. I have renewed pride and pleasure in the beauty of our farm and the health of our animals.