There’s a joke around mountain towns that goes something like this: “Jobs must be good around here because everyone has so many of them.” Stockbrokers are running climbing schools, physicists are rowing rafts, and novelists are slinging bacon and eggs. Like many people living in the Tetons who refuse to submit to the corporate world, I’ve spent twenty years since graduating from Stanford juggling seasonal jobs that require hard work but little long-term commitment. I have, instead, been committed to traveling the world, living on skis, bikes, whitewater, and in the wilderness.

Today, with a four-year old, a mortgage, and worn out knees, my priorities have changed. However, I still find myself with 2-5 jobs at any moment. The upside is that my kid has been Chile, Mexico, and Switzerland, and I just returned from two weeks in the Dolomites. The downside is that my house is a wreck, my bank account is bipolar, and my poor family never knows if I’ll be stressed out or ecstatic on a daily basis. It’s a spicy existence- dull and dry one day, demasiado picante the next.

It’s with twenty years of experience multitasking and dealing with the ups and downs of the aforementioned JDD (job deficit disorder) that I embark on a mission to see if a making a living in a sustainable food society is really possible. My dream is to write about food, bake and sell food at the Farmer’s Market, still have time to coach high school volleyball coach and have plenty of money to actually eat good food. My reality is this: In addition to being a full-time mom, at any moment I might be found (in order of how much time spent):

• Caretaking a house in Jackson and get paid a lot to keep it landscaped, organized, immaculate for people who spend two weeks a year there while my house is a complete disaster.$$$
• Shopping and baking food for Friday and Saturday Farmer’s Markets. (-$)
• Rafting down a river with three 4-year old girls.
• Burning granola while cleaning the freezer that broke over the weekend. (-$)
• Throwing together a 4th of July BBQ with meat defrosted in aforementioned freezer for all the neighborhood families.(-$)
• Trying sell food at the Farmer’s Market. $
• Coaching Volleyball. $
• Working at Cosmic Apple, our local CSA (0$)
• Coming upon a bear and two cubs on my Sunday run in the mountains!!!
• Writing this blog (0$)
• Planning Slow Food in the Tetons events (0$)
• Hanging out with the local grandmothers helping them write a Teton Valley Cookbook
• Devouring The Omnivore’s Dilemma or the latest New Yorker
• Haggling with Teton County School District about our lame wellness policy (sigh!)
• Writing magazine queries or working on assignments $$

OK, when I look at it on paper I can’t argue anything other than it’s a sweet life. But I still don’t have enough money to buy all the good food I want- I don’t want anything fancy- I just want to be able to shop at my local health food store. I want to buy artesian bread from the local bakery more than once a week. I want to buy organic cheese and meat. These things are rare luxuries for us.

I also find myself plopping my kid down in front of a video more than I like to so I can finish my baking for the Farmer’s Market or catch up in the office. While the market has been social and fun and I got a good tan, has been less than profitable so far. The website has been a big success with readership, but hasn’t produced a penny. And the two hours a week I have left over to send out queries is usually spent checking emails or thumbing through cookbooks.

So, “walking the talk.” Can we learn to live on less? Can selling food at a Farmer’s Market make even just a little bit of money? Can writing make just a little bit more money? Volleyball? I won’t go there. Can we eat a little better everyday? Can I squeak out just a little more time for my child and husband? Can I slow down to even 80 mph? Although I will continue to trip and fall, I have had a taste of what it’s like to jog along. I suppose like everything else I’ve stumbled through in my life, I will just have to stick with it until I’m running like the wind.