Every Monday starts before the sun comes up. I pour the coffee, sit at the kitchen table with last week's harvest notes, and start building this week's plan. Not on a computer — on a notepad, with a pencil I keep tucked behind my ear like a cliché.
The list starts with what's already in the ground. I walk the rows in my head before I walk them in boots: which beds are close to done, which ones need another week, what the weather forecast is telling me about timing. The chickens usually need feeding before I can even start thinking clearly.
We check inventory from the prior week — what sold fast, what came back with people saying they wished there was more. Those notes matter. If the sourdough was gone in the first hour, I'm baking an extra loaf this Friday. If the butternut sat long, maybe I'm pricing it differently or pairing it with a recipe card.
By the time the kids are up for school, the plan is made. Two pages of notes, maybe three. It's not glamorous. There's no spreadsheet, no dashboard. But that plan feeds real families every weekend, and that makes every Monday morning worth waking up for.