Happy Bench Monday – Farm Edition
(Or Seven Turkeys On A Ford)
There comes a point where the romance wears off and you realize just how much hard work is involved in sustainable farming. I think I reached that point on Thursday.
Don’t get me wrong: there is a part of us that does not want to leave at the end of this week. Good food, good people and a culture we enjoy. Not to mention fulfilling work in something we believe in. And there is so much more to know about sustainable housing, animal husbandry, beekeeping, rotational grazing, preserving…we could be here for years and still learning.
But we didn’t sign up for this internship to learn how to farm. We signed up to find out if this is something we want to do in the future…if we’re cut out for it or if doing it ourselves would totally kick our ass.
We feel strongly about sustainable, small-scale farming. We feel strongly about raw milk and organic vegetables and grass-fed meat and free-range eggs and seasonal fruits all being a part of local and sustainable eating. We feel strongly about dislodging ourselves from the mainstream culture of disconnection from our food and its source, as well as our over-consumption of energy, water and other resources, and the waste inherent in such choices.
I have, on occasion, spoken to older generations and expressed our interest in living this way. It comes from a desire to live simply and feel more connected to our food, our land and each other. So many of us are disillusioned with The American Dream of bigger houses and smaller lots and manicured lawns and 60 hour work weeks for someone else’s benefit all while drifting further and further from each other and ourselves. And we look into the past with a sense of wonder and awe and we feel it. We feel in our bones that this disconnection we’ve bought into cannot be better than the alternative of a life lived slowly. But almost every time I’ve had these conversations I’ve been met with dubious smirks. They remember those days of hard work with little of the same romance, they would never trade the convenience and ease of modern life for home canning and handmade clothing again and they chock our exuberance up to youthful ignorance.
Were we ignorant?
For the past several years we have essentially dreamed of what we are now experiencing. And let me tell you: it’s not as romantic as it sounded.
It’s not as if we didn’t know it would be hard work. But we didn’t really know in the way you know when you’re shoveling hundreds of pounds of wet debris out of an irrigation ditch. We didn’t really understand just how much we’ve become complacent to endless and abundant options until you remember the only tomatoes you have are the ones canned last summer. We didn’t really appreciate the cost of food until we experienced the labor inherent in milking a pint of milk from a prancing goat who kicks it over just as you finish.
We “knew” these things, but you just can’t get it until it’s in your hands.
In the few weeks we’ve been here we’ve seen little of each other and can already feel the strain. We’re tired and busy and working on different things. It’s tough to not see much of the people with whom you so enjoy spending time…even when you’re both doing something you love.
So, could we do this? If this was “ours” would it be different? Could we wake up, day after day, with no break and an endless number of chores and projects and not go insane, get antsy or feel exhausted with life itself? Could we prevent the stress from getting to us as a couple and still find time for each other and our child?
If we only had own hands and a piece of land to rely on, could we sustain ourselves? Or are we doomed to rely on outsources and inputs and a system we neither trust, nor wish to support?
I don’t yet know.
Overall, I’m glad we came, even if it asked us more questions than it answered. It’s given us an appreciation we only thought we had.
One thing I know for sure: We could never do it alone. Part of what has made this difficult experience fun is the “community” built with the many friends and volunteers that have come and gone. Milking a cow in the cold is drudgery. Milking a cow, cooking meals, washing dishes, running from rouge turkeys, thinning carrots and taking funny Bench Monday photos while talking and laughing is something we have loved.
I’m interested in your thoughts on this…
He feels fairly certain he can scrounge up a few more months of work. But construction is grimmer than Vegas has ever seen. And he knows he’ll need to find work elsewhere. And with Benny, we can follow the work while we scope out new places to live.
I'm Tara Wagner, life coach and creator of the 
