"Jared's farm." I occasionally, but memorably, hear this phrase. The speaker is more typically male, but at times is female.
My reaction ranges from an inward, "Huh." or "Hm." My reaction might be an inward "That's f*cked up." or "That's amusing." Outwardly, I may say nothing, or I may subtly let the person who just talked about "Jared's farm" know that Jared's farm is also Rachel's farm. I wouldn't bother trying to give Beren a share of the farm, too. Not at that point anyway, because if someone doesn't notice that Jared is working with at least one other adult on a regular basis, I doubt they'd recognize a child's contribution.
Not that I'm getting haughty (b*tchy or maybe sophisticated as an old friend used to say), but let's be honest, my blood pressure is elevated at the moment. Perhaps the speaker made a mistake, an honest mistake. But really, here I am, driving a big *ss truck, and I'm dirty. I'm working on the farm, "our" farm.
Ya wouldn't say "Jared's house", would ya? Nope, 'cos I live there, too.
I'm glad to let Jared rig up a connection between the walk-behind tractor and a dump cart. I'm happy that he enjoys running the flail mower. I'm very happy that he tinkers with our website. He's probably just as glad for things I like to do around here. I'm glad for our camaraderie. Our shared labor, expertise, and intuition allow for things to happen successfully.
I'm somewhat tempted to list the power tools and two cycle engines I can use. Maybe list the stewardship plans I've written, the highly technical GIS resources that I could access to help inform management decisions. The stupefying number of invasive plants I could identify and manage. The various hats that I wear around here. That might seem like I have something to prove. Nobody really likes someone with something to prove. And yet, here I am boxed into a corner.
I like the idea of complementary roles, around the house, inside and out. We'd hardly get anywhere with out complementary roles. So, thanks, Jared and Beren, for rigging up the dump cart so we could load the firewood I cut yesterday. Couldn't help myself. Now you know part of my curriculum vitae on the farm.
I'm not even sure how I feel writing this. Irritated. Embarrassed. Unsure.