The Last Hair Tie

I am down to my last hair tie. Two weeks ago, I still had one of my simple black no-frills Goody elastics and now it’s gone so I’m down to my last resort – a rubberized one that rips out my hair every time I remove it. I’ve always had long-ish hair (except for a fun night with a bottle of wine and rusty farm shears) so hair ties have always been an integral part of my work costume. E once told me he had one hair tie for his entire long hair career, and one pencil throughout all of college. He’s superhuman if you ask me; I can’t fathom the kind of discipline that he must have to put something back in the same place every time. He famously puts my tools away before I’m done using them and closes cupboard doors while I’m still emptying the dishwasher (or a week after I’m done, whatever). He is the ying to my yang.


But for some reason I’m feeling this last hair tie to be symbolic. We’ve spent the last year without income, living on savings to get this farm up and running and producing. We took our last big gasp of spending before we left Kentucky – I probably even had a full pack of ties then – and we’ve been holding our money-breath ever since and frivolities regularly get the ax. Our stores of comfort items and niceties have dwindled. Hair ties for some weird reason, fall into that category for me. After all, couldn’t I just rig up my hair some other way? I could revert to making horrific scrunchies like all of 4th grade by pulling the elastic out of T’s outgrown shorts and sewing it into the ragged dishtowel that I’m about to throw out. But I just don’t have that kind of time these days. I even eyed one abandoned at the park that looked just like mine and almost picked it up, but then got to thinking about lice and thought better of it.

What I’m trying to say, is that it’s the 11th hour around here. First market is still 23 days out, and we still have some big expenses coming around that are imperative to a successful season. It can feel a bit discouraging on days, when progress feels like an uphill battle and we realize that the path to where we’re headed isn’t paved in well-drained silty loam with a pH of 6.5. But we’ll forge on – we’re not starving or destitute – and we’ll make it to that first market, with hair a blowin’ in the wind.

Hair? What hair?


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