With our upgrade on May 1st to USDA Inspected I’ve spent some time upgrading our brochures, order forms and other literature to reflect our change in inspection status. Here’s the new brochure.
I’ve also been working on getting our more complicated recipes and accompanying labels approved. Labels that make claims, such as “Uncured Bacon” for example, are required to go through the FSIS LSAS approval process at the USDA. So many acronyms!
Currently we’re under dual jurisdiction which means we process some things under USDA federal inspection and some things like our bacon and salt pork under Vermont state inspection. This means paying extra attention to not confusing the two different batches of label, USDA vs VT, and a bit more paperwork keeping the two separate. I look forward to when the USDA approves our HACCP#3 for the salt pork and the bacon labels so that we can shift to 100% USDA inspection.
Yesterday the brochures arrived back from VistaPrint and they look great. It is always fun to see the designs that are mere electronic form in my computer translated into the physical world. Once upon a time, the butcher shop was just a sketch too.
By the way, can you spot the typo in the brochure?
Outdoors: 41°F/74°F Sunny
Tiny Cottage: 70°F/64°F
Daily Spark: I watched my mother die, her mind as sharp as a cimitar straight off a steel yet her body and strength fading until there was nothing left. She prepared everything for her death in her dedicated, organized, controlled manner, planning out her grave, her memorial service, her distribution of worldly possessions and writing her obituary as she made her peace with the world in preparation for moving on. While my mother carefully died my father was fading quite differently, his pattern bracketing hers yet totally at odds. His body in fine shape, his personality, quirks and mannerisms all there. Yet he is the man upon the stair who isn’t there. I am the stranger whom he’s never met, over and over, visiting him and meeting him each time for the first time from his perspective, each time for the last time from mine. Unlike the poem Antigonish I do not wish that he would go away. Rather I cherish each brief moment when recognition sparks in his eyes. -WVJ 20180606
(a.k.a. “The Little Man Who Wasn’t There”)
Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away.
When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me.
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door.
Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away.
–William Hughes Mearns (1875–1965)