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I was laid off, but with the hope that these locations would reopen in the summer and those of us that wanted to come back could. Instead, I learned what touch deprivation feels like and the weirdness that comes with spending way too much time alone. I took long walks, made quarantine bagels that I have no desire to ever make again, had endless Zoom calls, and talked a lot to the squirrels on the telephone wire outside my window.

I dreamed of hugs with animals or humans almost every night. When the bakery reopened in late May, I was beyond thrilled to go back—not just to have work, but because I could be around people again. I missed my coworkers. I missed regulars, like the ladies who knit over coffee. I missed the toddlers stuffing their faces with blueberry muffins.

I missed having a place to go every day. Now customers are not allowed inside. The company rolled out online ordering and it has saved our bacon in every way. Enforcing mask rules is without a doubt the most frustrating part of this job.

But the worst part of this pandemic for me, and many of my coworkers, was when wildfires choked Portland with smoke in September. Those of us that chose to work kept the bakery door shut and talked to customers via a baby monitor.

On a really down day, one coworker surprised me by pulling me in for a quick side hug. Even with the risks, even with the frustration of enforcing mask rules to the public, work is where I feed my need to nurture. We all need to nurture and be nurtured—especially now—and food is one outlet for that. Since I live alone, slinging pastries and sandwiches for strangers has become a way to meet that need. With so many restaurants closing, many of us working realize how lucky we are to still have jobs.

My shop goes through to eggs a week now. I feel confident Grand Central will pull through this pandemic, thanks to all the changes the company has made to adapt. But when half the fun of eating out is the experience of being not in your house, I worry about how restaurants and cafes will survive with just takeout. I think it will be hard for many of us working to feel safe about letting customers dine in, even though we want that, too.

People are always going to want to eat out, so I do believe this industry will return to some kind of normality, but it will probably take a while. I was one of them, but I had to be willing to get off pastries and work on the line. I had just moved from Providence, RI, where I was working at a bakery, and was super excited to work at a big restaurant. Continental Midtown is an eclectic, three-story restaurant in the Rittenhouse Square area, best known for its cheesesteak egg rolls, Sichuan shoestring fries, and brookies brownie cookies.

The restaurant closed on March I was laid off for four months and went on unemployment. The first few weeks were hard, but eventually I used my time off to experiment with my own recipes. Still, it had been years since I had more than a week off, so not working just felt wrong. During that time, I constantly checked up with my executive chef, to see when it would be possible to come back.

I think my persistence and clear willingness to work helped me when the restaurant reopened in early June. Only 20 percent of employees got their job back. The menu was down-sized and there was no longer a full pastry department—it was cut from six people to three.

I started training on the salad station, which requires a lot of preparation, so my knife skills have definitely improved. After a few months on salad, I was cross-trained on the fry and hot appetizer station. Because of my savory experience in culinary school, it was a fluid change going from pastry to savory. Another thing that helped was having a partner that is a savory cook, so having him to answer questions is always helpful.

But when someone orders dessert during my shift, the executive pastry chef takes me off the line and has me plate the dessert. Then I get right back on the savory line. I am glad to be back in the kitchen at the Continental Midtown, but I do miss making desserts at work. My restaurant is one of many I know that could only hire back half of the original pastry department.

I just think there is a surplus of unemployed savory cooks and not all pastry chefs have savory training, so jobs are given to those with more experience. I have no plans on leaving Continental Midtown to do pastry at another restaurant.

If anything, during my time here, I plan on keeping both savory and pastry as options. My overall goal is to open my own business, so I know that even if I remain in a savory-pastry hybrid role at the Continental, the knowledge that I am learning here will be beneficial to me in the future.

I remember that we were pretty unsure if we were going to continue operating, but as soon as we read the update from governor Gavin Newsom on the shelter-in-place order, the choice was made. Meanwhile, our attention was elsewhere. The pause gives us energy to do more community-led things. We downsized after we had to let go of our commissary space, which meant we had an excess of resources, including unused fridges.

We donated some to Oakland Town Fridge , a community fridge initiative positioned in areas of West Oakland that face food apartheid. Little Window started as a pop-up in , after the big financial crisis, when I first moved to SF. That time spurred a lot creativity in food and inspired a lot of food trucks and the like to open. Everyone is missing that, especially now. The pandemic has been a big financial setback for sure. The uncertainty has made it challenging for us to envision a path to recovery that would feel safe, healthy, and sustainable.

Then there was no outdoor dining due to fires and unhealthy air. In , the smoke and ash from the Camp Fire in Paradise, which was over three hours away from us, triggered PTSD for many Sonoma County residents who fled for cleaner air. Then there was the Kincade Fire in Windsor last fall, which shut us down for eight days; most of our team, including Vinnie [my husband and the co-owner and brewmaster of Russian River Brewing Company], me, and our cats, had to evacuate for several days.

That one was way too close for comfort. We can see the burn scars to the south and east of the brewery. And when the Walbridge Fire erupted after that wild and rare electrical storm in August, we had a front row seat once again from the Windsor brewery. The horrible air quality set in for weeks on end, only to be exacerbated by the arrival of the Glass Fire, which had to jump the entire Napa Valley before making its way southwest to Santa Rosa.

Yes, it has been an emotional roller coaster ride that we are all ready to depart. These past three years have made this community more resilient than most, which I think is helping us navigate the COVID situation with thicker skin. We are already getting used to wearing masks in general during fire season. The cloth masks are actually more comfortable, although we all now have mask, fire, AND virus fatigue.

We had to pivot our business entirely back in March when everything was shut down. And our draft distribution was about 40 percent of our wholesale sales. All of that literally ended overnight. We immediately started packaging all of our beer into bottles and cans for distribution to stores and for to-go sales at our pub and brewery, and we began shipping online direct to consumers in California for the first time in over 15 years.

That move literally saved us financially. Now we are stuck with only outdoor dining and takeout in Sonoma County. For some reason our county is unable to meet one of the state COVID metrics, which prevents us from starting indoor dining. Other counties around us, including San Francisco, are reopening for indoor operations. This has been a very stressful and frustrating year and I see it coming to a head very soon. Our employees are exhausted, too.

We laid off about 40 percent of our staff with several more just moving on or not accepting invitations to come back. The health and safety of our employees is always our no. But everyone is pretty much over Looking forward to at least being done with this contentious election! My clients are diligently trying, just as I am, to survive. My path, I thought, was to tell the stories behind the stories, the ones that no one talks about or notices and bring them into the light.

I wanted to write about the young Black nurse practitioner in Spartanburg, SC, who grew up with a single mother and three siblings, put herself through school, and managed to open her own practice. Stories like hers are breathtaking and incredibly necessary but often go untold.

In making this kind of storytelling my goal, I found myself trying to survive on the path more than following it. So, as a matter of survival, I had to get creative with my cooking. Suddenly, I had a new focus. I felt compelled to share what I was making with other women who faced similar challenges.

I launched my own website to share my writing and started my own catering business, SharellCooks. Since the pandemic, my catering business has all but ended. I catered specifically for smaller events: bridal showers, networking luncheons, housewarmings, and the like. In these uncertain times, my catering services are no longer a fun indulgence but rather an unnecessary expense. With so much uncertainty and unanswered questions, I came to the realization that things were going to get worse before they get better.

In April, however, my website was hacked, and I was forced to completely dismantle it and start over. I was devastated. Food costs are rising, and care responsibilities are growing as family members stay at home. I visited my sister in April, and we were sitting at her table, sipping wine and eating homemade tacos, when we heard a loud knock at the door.

It was one of her closest friends, sobbing uncontrollably. As a single mother of two young children with a demanding job, she was devastated by the stay-at-home order and at a loss as to how to care for her children while attempting to make ends meet. These are the struggles that everyday working women are facing. As I focus more on my writing, these are the stories I want to tell.

More importantly, these are the women I want to help with recipes, meal prep videos, and tips on how to stretch ingredients to last the week. When I first started writing about food, I would focus on the tastes, smells, and textures. Food is a remedy. Food is born of and catalyzes conversations, memories, and lessons. Some of my most important life lessons—about history, family, tradition, spirituality, and individuality—were learned in the kitchen with my mother. During the pandemic, the intersection of all these issues has really come to bear, and both allowed and compelled me to dig deeper into the culture within Black culture.

For me, these are incredible accomplishments and life-changing events for any Black person, and their stories need to be told, especially today. I constantly wonder how I will regain their trust in my services, and moreover, if my services will still be as relevant as more women and families take DIY approaches instead of outsourcing. These are the questions that I fall asleep at night thinking about. These are the questions that sometimes prevent me from sleeping at all.

Catering businesses like mine and the food industry in general are trying to move forward through the pandemic, but it feels like we are walking blindfolded, in the dark, through a maze of uncertainty. We will find a way to regain the trust of our customers. We will come back stronger than ever. I have to believe that. This is our 10th business idea in 32 weeks.

The next day, we opened as a drive-thru burger joint. Burgers was idea no. The following day we opened The Bagel Shed. Then a home delivery service and a piano livestream to go with it. The ideas kind of fell into place: a CSA, a cocktail delivery service, a livestream bingo show, a drive-in movie theater, a crab shack in our parking lot.

It was like, how many ways can we invent to keep people employed? We tried to find a way to include people in our community who needed help. A few of the ideas became fundraisers; I think we just crossed a quarter million dollars raised for charity.

Canlis Community College , affectionately known as no. And we were like, right, school…what if Canlis did school? Which of course, we know nothing about. So we started inviting the city to help teach. You could watch something in Seattle and then laugh or cry and send it to your cousin in L.

It was pretty incredible; I think just about every grocer in Seattle was out of dumpling wrappers. Classes are varied, from how to give a proper home haircut or pair boxed wine with snack food to studying the social, artistic, and cultural pillars of our city and the characteristics that made them so. The whole thing is about learning, about using this time, this forced stillness, for good.

A Canlis Kids Adventure. Intramural sports. With Canlis Community College, we were hoping to create a business model that's more scalable than a restaurant. We were hoping to keep the lights on around here while maybe sharing some of that with our neighbors. Compared to March, things feel different. Back then, we had endless energy and there was such an adrenaline rush behind it all.

We were all coming into this with fresh eyes. The stakes are higher now. That against-all-odds feeling you get, the pride of a team coming together, the value of making a difference—it's all priceless. You do this, or you die trying—those are the options. We had shut down our restaurant operations but still had all our perishable inventory, so we quickly came up with a strategy to start selling our own wild game meat boxes to those clamoring for fresh ingredients.

This kind of pivoting was a dizzying experience. We scrambled to source new packaging and develop branding on the fly. Fortunately, once we figured it out, we began selling these boxes, which includes duck, wild boar, bison ribeye, Cornish game hens, and cooking instructions, and promoting it on our website and social media platforms.

We were surprised to learn that we were selling out within the first week. A wave of joy, excitement, and relief hit us, knowing that we could survive a bit longer. In fact, because we sold a few hundred of these boxes in about three weeks, we also began selling a wild fish version as well, which included wild salmon, halibut, lingcod, and rockfish.

Pre-pandemic, our customers would come into the restaurant to try these dishes but told me that they never felt capable of making it at home. Once we began selling the boxes, I posted cooking tutorials on Instagram to offer encouragement and advice. Since then, people have shared their revelatory home cooking experiences with me, telling me they were shocked at how approachable and easy it was to cook duck, for instance. We realized that our customers were adventurous, if not more so in the pandemic.

So when we opened the restaurant—at 70 percent capacity on the patio and 30 percent for indoor dining—we decided to add a tataki-style seal loin dish. The dish not only did well but sold out every night. A couple weeks ago, we had a surge in cases, so we had to close for indoor dining.

We are still open for patio dining outside and takeaway, and continue to sell our meals kits, butcher boxes, and alcohol. In the midst of all the pandemic chaos, I just debuted my very first book: The Hunter Chef Cookbook, which features over wild game recipes and celebrates hunting, fishing, foraging, and cooking as a way of life.

It includes an amazing seal flipper pie my aunt would make me when I visited her in Newfoundland. Overall, this experience has reminded me that, while I consider myself a positive guy, the unpredictable and uncontrollable circumstances can take a toll on you. Either way, it would be devastating.

So much of that is conveyed by being in the space—seeing, smelling, and tasting the food; hearing the music; being a part of the crowd. When Pittsburgh got its first COVID cases, we initially tried to stay open for no-contact, take-out-only service for a few days a week. With a skeleton crew, we managed to convert some of our alcohol inventory into cash and sell enough food to pay our bills and land softly. But as more people in the industry were getting sick, we decided to close up shop.

We wanted a better sense of how safe it was to be open at all. We stayed closed for three months until parts of the state began to open around June. So we expedited some long-term plans. The same goes for all kinds of nonalcoholic concoctions—we started to make and bottle organic bread kvass and sparkling fruit kompot for folks to pick up and take home. All wine and spirits that are sold in the state need to go through this board.

And we are way more limited in terms of natural wine distributors—we had to convince some to start selling here. Now you can walk up to the table shoved in our door and talk to us about our newly expanded carryout bottle list, which includes many wines from Eastern Europe. But we were torn: We work closely with several small organic farms and we knew they lost so much of their normal business during their peak season due to restaurant closures.

So even more than normal, we decided to be incredibly flexible with the menu and work off of what farms had to sell. Too much chard, too much zucchini, too much tomato—it all turns into our menu for the week. We want to see our staple suppliers, like Who Cooks For You Farm, make it into next year without a lost season. Because of that, for the first time since we opened four years ago, we actually have flexible days.

Now we can find time to pick fruit or forage flowers for projects, take time to experiment, go to the woods, or just sit down. Before, we were packed and we were exhausted. The road forward for us is one that really reimagines the balance of time spent maintaining our day-to-day, the hard work that pushes us forward, and the sustainability of the business.

It has been and still is a complicated equation. But so much of operating a restaurant is built on creativity and optimism, and I guess this is going to be another test of that. It was opened in by a grandmother who became famous for traditional homemade Korean tofu and stews. She has since passed the restaurant down to her daughter, then she passed it to her son before Hand Hospitality group took over. I manage it now, and Cho Dang Gol has operated every single day for decades, during every holiday, hurricane, and snowstorm—until coronavirus.

When the pandemic first hit New York City, our foremost concern was and still is cleanliness. We handle everything very carefully and have strict temperature checks, socially distanced tables, and outdoor dining. For indoor dining, we take temperatures of everyone entering, ask customers to sanitize hands, and wear masks until seated at their table, which of course has been sanitized thoroughly in between guests.

Reality and passion feels like two opposite views right now in the pandemic. We take cues from the mayor, the news, and the city, but everything is so uncertain. Our silver lining is that Cho Dang Gol, which prides itself in tradition, finally became more digital. Similar to the rest of Koreatown, we never took reservations until the pandemic. We developed additional delivery services and started using Resy. For the first time, we could see where our guests come from and realized many of our guests come from outside Manhattan, such as New Jersey and the surrounding New York boroughs, which was wonderful.

Another positive was that we created a new combination menu for outdoor dining with elements of our best dishes at an affordable price [given how people are experiencing financial insecurity]. Customers love being able to try a combination of our highlights, and making them happy is a bright spot during these uncertain times. But our club is synonymous with drag. So we thought, Why not have them perform at the houses they were delivering to?

We mean a lot to our community, and I feel lucky in that respect, that I have the community at large really fighting to keep us going. But it also means I have a bigger responsibility to not let it close. Early this year my partners decided they wanted to retire from the club and theater world, and I considered letting it go as well. But I realized that I was very attached to the audiences and the performers, and I knew what the drag club means to the city.

So I decided to keep it and buy out my partners. That was February. Then everything stopped a month later. We went from having people come in for the earlier cabaret shows, followed by plus people for the later night club events, to nothing. We had to close completely; drag performers were furloughed and staff had to go on unemployment.

The food was so good. Pre-pandemic, my friend was an actress and events coordinator and her boyfriend was a chef. They were both out of work, so they started this service. It occurred to me that my friend and I had complementary businesses: She had food but no drinks, and I had drinks but no food. Plus, Oasis already had a built-in customer base. By merging Oasis with Martha Avenue, we could expand both of our businesses and get some drag performers back to work making the deliveries.

At first, we just had the drag queens driving around in cars, with their sneakers on or whatnot, delivering the food. But Oasis is synonymous with drag, and it felt wrong to have someone dressed down show up at the door. It can be social distanced, curbside, but it seemed like people wanted that drag element, that connection to another human being. And so the streets of San Francisco became our stage. We call it our Meals on Heels delivery food service, and we officially launched in June.

It went so well and got so popular that we decided to make it a weekly thing. It has really resonated with people, especially in this time when everything is so intense with the fires, COVID, politics. To have a glimmer of rhinestones and feathers and makeup lifts people up, even for five minutes. Drag queens are the jesters of our time, really, and doing it outside is just so edgy and fabulous. For them, every house is a new adventure, filled with new terrain, challenges, and opportunities.

Kids and grandparents are watching at the front door; neighbors are coming out for the show. Financially, our business has been devastated. There are a lot of different kinds of people here: The majority of residents are Native American, mostly Navajo because the Navajo Nation is around Gallup, but there are also Hispanic and Jewish populations and a small Middle Eastern community.

After moving to Gallup, I missed eating Mediterranean food. That is what I grew up on. We had to drive two hours away to Albuquerque or four and a half hours to Phoenix just to get falafel and hummus. It ended up becoming pretty popular. Word of mouth helped.

Local doctors would recommend Oasis to patients with diabetes—Gallup has a high rate—since our food is healthy, mostly salads and grilled items. Everything is homemade. We get a lot of tourists with people driving from New York or Florida to California or Arizona, specifically to see the Grand Canyon or the national forests.

Many of my customers were scared to come out, and it took a long time for them to get used to taking things to-go. Navajo Nation was hit especially hard, and since Gallup is so close to the reservation, our town was also affected. Because of that, my customers did not feel comfortable eating around others, even outside. But my restaurant is small so I can only have 12 people at a time. There have been shortages of chicken, beef, cleaning supplies, to-go containers, and plastic silverware for months.

And whenever I can get my hands on them, the prices are inflated. They went for the drinks. That meant street tacos and barbecue. He owned Bar 41 at the time and was looking for a pop-up. It was a match made in heaven. At that point we went our separate ways but stayed really close. Mario left the food industry, but even after Bar 41 shut its doors, I stayed in it.

But the pandemic changed everything. When Alameda County finally allowed bars to start opening again in June, they mandated that all bars serve a bona fide meal. Turns out a single street taco qualifies as a bonafide meal. I shared this idea on a Facebook group full of bar owners, and almost immediately I got several responses asking when I could start cooking. At that point, I called Mario. At the time, I was convinced my culinary career was over.

We keep trying to make more food and we keep selling out. Before we were always an ancillary product. Ultimately, we need each other to survive. Our only fear now is the winter. We have to keep pivoting, which is a key skill that everyone in the industry has to learn to survive. We just feel so fortunate that we have customers who will literally follow us from bar to bar. It's definitely been a struggle and incredibly stressful. Pitchfork Farm works closely with local restaurants, so we've definitely felt the impact.

The pickle arm of our business has also been affected, but luckily we've seen growth in the retail purchasing side of things—people are buying jars of pickles to eat at home more than they had in the past. I started working at the farm in , and I'm in my fourth season here.

Pitchfork Pickle started in January ; the guys were looking for a creative outlet for farm produce and my vision of farming has always included preservation and a value-added component, so we partnered up. Now I am an owner, along with Eric and Rob. During the summer the guys are pretty exclusively focused on the farm; Eric comes back online at The Pickle during the winter to help out with the day-to-day and special projects we don't have time to get to during the farm season.

For the pickle side of Pitchfork, we operate a retail shop at the entrance of our production space. In our first year, and up until COVID, we saw a little less than 35 percent of our overall sales come directly through the shop. The other 65 percent was wholesale product—bulk for restaurants and delis, and retail units for local grocery stores.

Overnight we saw that split shift to 15 percent from the online shop and 85 percent from wholesale. With restaurants closed, our wholesale clients moved towards local retail co-ops, groceries, and farm stands. Previously, we had been taking slow steps to build an online store, and we prioritized finishing it the first week businesses were closed in Burlington so that we could offer curbside pick-up and mail ordering.

For the first time during the pandemic, we began selling our pickled goods online, and complemented those sales with quiet-but-consistent curbside pickups. It's been amazing to see our local farmstand economy thriving—we have made new partnerships with farms that have stores onsite or are offering add-ons to their CSA programs.

It's been a huge boost for us: Retail unit sales more than replaced the lost revenue when restaurants had to close. I love networking with other farmers, and it makes me proud to see local food producers supported by our community in the way that they have been. The shift has meant increased labor and materials costs for us, and supply chain issues with certain materials have been a huge headache.

For example, the bottles we buy for our hot sauces have been sold out for months because they make great hand sanitizer bottles. Overall, we've seen growth, just not at all in the ways I had anticipated at the beginning of the year. We had hired more part-time help the week before Vermont shut down, and we've been more or less able to keep working a regular schedule throughout the worst of the shutdown.

I know how lucky I am to be able to say that, and I'm relieved to be able to work with our restaurant customers again as they've reopened. Our tourist season this year has continued to feel very muted compared to previous years. I haven't heard how restaurants are planning to modify their offerings as the seasons shift and outdoor dining isn't an option, but I expect another change soon. Many restaurants are working with smaller crews upon reopening, and they're looking at where they can outsource laborious tasks, like what we make.

We work with one restaurant that makes a lot of their own pickles and ferments but have made plans to collaborate more as it makes more sense for them to source from us. We appreciate their trust and support of our product, and hope to do more restaurant collaborations moving forward.

We were going to have a grand-opening party with a DJ and drinks and invite family, friends, and industry folks. The day we opened, April 17, it was different than we imagined—crazy and hectic—but we were all there, supporting each other. Thankfully in L. That is huge. Because of that we want to keep our menu consistent so that anyone can order from any of our delivery platforms and get what they want most of the time. RDB: That was hard at first, from the kitchen standpoint.

Coordinating with vendors and farmers was a challenge. RV: Financially we are doing much less than we projected. But we are surviving. We do enough business to pay rent, payroll, utilities and for food and supplies. We have to do most of the work ourselves and work longer hours. We are always looking for ways to generate more revenue, and Peso Goods, our online shop, is one way we feel we can do that.

Initially we had always planned to sell swag and T-shirts, but then we realized that we could also offer pantry goods. RV: The pantry goods will consist of our sauces and vinaigrettes—our bagoong vinaigrette, yuzu vinaigrette, and toyomansi aioli—and our house-made tocino and longanisa. Is it still good when they get it? So now we are researching how to do it. RDB: Opening a restaurant is challenging enough as it is. But COVID, the closures, and protests on top of it has made us stronger and forced us to think outside the box.

But for the first 8 seasons, building the farm into a sustainable business — where sustainable has more of a financial meaning — has occupied the front of our minds. Ludicrous even. But plenty of people told us 8 years ago that starting a new farm was somewhere between ambitious and ludicrous too! And this rate of reduction is just what needs to be done.

Factoring in our carbon-sensitive forest- and soil-management practices, the farm will be carbon-negative by and will sequester about tons of carbon per year by We plan to switch from using propane heat in our seedling greenhouse to having a wood-fired boiler, which will help us implement our forest management plan in addition to meeting our fossil fuel reduction pledge.

But, when we started scratching our heads about what we needed to do to erase fossil carbon from the farm, things actually started to seem pretty doable. Why not remake all of our energy systems in the next 10 years? We think we can do it. Read on if you are interested in all the nitty gritty details of our plan for achieving our pledge.

The plan will likely evolve as we evaluate costs and feasibility, and as new products become available, but the 90 in 10 pledge is a commitment we expect to be held to. Also, challenge other businesses you patronize to do the same! Tell them to get serious. Ask them to make and publicize a plan to achieve their 90 in 10 commitment! In our baseline year the farm already had a solar thermal system for our domestic hot water, got more than half its heat from wood, super-insulated the farm crew housing, and had about Still, we used: This resulted in a net emissions of 41 tons of CO2 based on the energy mix supplying the New England Grid in and carbon contained in these fuels.

The outline of the plan is simple. Increase efficiency. Replace fossil fuel burning equipment with electric equipment. Install more PV panels on existing roof tops to generate the electricity cleanly. Buy liquid biofuels for infrequently used equipment not worth replacing.

Specifically here is what we plan to do: Wiring new solar inverters Focus on electricity generation and efficiency. Install Rooted out old non-LED light bulbs. Even in seldom-used locations. Spray foam air leaks. Grants and government programs will be key to achieving this rapid transition and we will take advantage of any program we can.

We currently burn up to gallons of propane per year to heat our seedling greenhouse. This will enable us to use implement the timber stand improvement practices called for in our forest management plan while utilizing the low-value trees for on-farm heating needs. The efficiency gain from our walk in cooler project will make the electricity available from our existing PV. We sure hope such a device is in reasonable mass production by then!

You too Toyota. We only need miles of driving range tops! This is possible now! This may require more solar panels and a battery storage solution to enable us to store up power while the tractor is in the field working. We sure hope John Deere will have gotten serious about producing electric farm tractors by this time.

We plan to switch to biofuels in most remaining liquid fuel combustion engines. We are basically done burning fossil carbon. Fossil emissions are a few percent of values: from propane cookstoves, backup greenhouse heat, and a few small engines that require traditional fuel. It will be time to turn our energy to any remaining embodied carbon in the things we buy. Note that the first 5 years of the plan are all things that we know how to do and should do immediately. We are almost ashamed to admit the reality that it will take us a few years to get them done.

If we had the time and money we could knock off the first 5 year list this spring! Later years of the plan require a few advances in equipment availability.

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Matched betting calculator poor house pies vermont Casinos were open. Verizon Commc'ns Inc. An hour later, I was rolling out a few more orders, and that guy came back to tell me he loved it and to ask when would I be there serving food again. Early on I was lucky enough to find a collaborative kitchen collective where I could rent space by the hour. According to this https://casinobetplacea.website/oberbettingen-karnevalszug-frechen/2475-lymphangitic-spread-definition-in-betting.php, the structural remedy might merely replace a difficult price-regulation issue with an even more difficult access-regulation issue. For example, the Tenth Circuit recognized that a firm might engage in predation in one market to prevent the target of the predation from expanding to compete in a separate market.
Matched betting calculator poor house pies vermont Stories like hers are breathtaking and incredibly necessary but often go untold. There can be instances where some fixed costs would be included in average avoidable cost, such as if some fixed costs were incurred to produce the predatory increment, but would have been here if that increment had not been produced. We are still open for patio dining outside and takeaway, and continue to sell our meals kits, butcher boxes, and alcohol. That first customer was not a friend. Our spending made both of these entities emit more carbon. My path, I thought, was to tell the stories behind the stories, the ones that no one talks about or notices and bring them into the light.
Matched betting calculator poor house pies vermont Conclusion The Department believes that predatory pricing can harm competition and should be condemned in appropriate circumstances. I missed the toddlers stuffing their faces with blueberry muffins. Too much chard, too much zucchini, too much tomato—it all turns into our menu for the week. A lot of them have had to let employees go. We do enough business to pay rent, payroll, utilities and for food and supplies. Brooke Group and its precursors, while not prescribing any particular cost measure, nonetheless are predicated upon the notion, perhaps best expressed by then-Judge Breyer in Barry Wright, that "modern antitrust courts look to the relation of price to 'avoidable' or 'incremental' costs as a way of segregating price cuts that are 'suspect' from those that are not. How could we create a product that would meet their needs and keep https://casinobetplacea.website/oberbettingen-karnevalszug-frechen/3819-engvall-ethereal.php afloat?

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