HAPPY BIRTHDAY MORGEN . . . 

My brother is 17 months older than me, born on the same day of different months. From the beginning, I was a curious intruder on his life, and sometimes I still feel that way (even when those who don’t know us occasionally mistake me for the older one). I tend to buzz around him like a bee around a bear: Whatcha been doing? How are you feeling? What are you worried about? Let’s talk it over!

We grew up on a farm, and fought like cats and dogs for much of our childhood, scrambling for a foothold on leadership, privacy, and autonomy. Every new grade I entered in school meant a new teacher looking down at me and exclaiming ‘Oh, so you’re Morgen’s sister! Are you as smart as he is?’

But in the fall of my sophomore year of high school, something changed. Morgen got his driver’s license, and the 20 minute commute to school became an opportunity to listen to music that we both happened to like, to roll down the windows, to catch hold of a temporary freedom, together.

It turned out that we liked one another after all. We weren’t enemies, we were advocates. I had felt protective of my brother at various times over the years, and vice versa. Now, the slippery, mercurial protectiveness of our youth hardened into shields; sometimes silent and hidden shields, but present for one another all the time, just the same.

My big brother will always be the only person who shared my childhood completely. I don’t love him because he’s my brother, or because we share blood. I love him as my forever companion. My shield will always be up for him, as we struggle through the ups and downs of adulthood.

This spring, I’m proud to watch him blossom in a new Good Food Job that advances his career as a livestock manager of happy pigs. He started out as a Landscape Architect, lost his job during the 2008 recession, and struggled to stay afloat in the shifting waters of modern employment. He slept on my couch for many weeks. He kept his head up through many, many interviews that went nowhere. And, in a period of time that seems remarkably short in hindsight, he found his way back to farm life, doing work that matters. His story reminds me of my favorite adage from Caroline ‘Ma’ Ingalls: there is no great loss without some small gain.

I’ll always be the small to his big. And I really don’t mind that anymore.

Cheers,

Dorothy (+ Taylor)
Co-Founders, Good Food Jobs