Why I farm

It is up to me to listen to the birds.

And the sights, the smells and sounds of golden fields beckon me.  I am standing still, alone in a vast landscape.  Things are growing and things are decaying.  The chaos cradles me.  With my hands behind my back, I am touching Everything. 

My body is not a sacred temple, but I see why those words were chosen.  It does not want when I am watching.  It experiences.  It floats through empty space that breaths creativity. 

I inhale.  I take off up the mountainside; sprinting, I leap into freedom…

And I am standing still with my hands behind my back. 

The sun has peaked above the cherry trees.  Now it is time for doing; to “chop wood and carry water”.  I take a hoe from the old barn.  Its smell holds the memory of livestock.  The handle is rough in my hands.  It will give me blisters. 

And I work.

What is work?  It is play.  My muscles are awakened.  My lips are salty.    

The pain passing through me is a cloud of mist.  It is dissipating.  I am turning its energy into a smile, through study.   

I have neglected myself in the morning hours, I realize.  In neglect I find boredom and a distance from reality; some waking dream, pained or giddy…like watching tv perpetually.  Through this earth I find my footing.   It is not a fairy tale.  My back begins to ache.  I interned for a farmer in Maryland who told me, as I could barely stand the discomfort, “Backs must be sacrificed for the sake of food production”.   But things are not so serious, no, a cooling wind reveals.

I am playing, with only one foot in the world of form and as the hours pass I am surprised.  Everything is changing.    The lady bugs have gone and then returned.  The broccoli is thirsty again.  The roots of the weeds have grown brittle on the soil’s surface.  Hana has arrived with compost and I am so excited to see her.  Her blue eyes are piercing; dancing with presence. 

The day goes on.  The night is coming.  I am exhausted.

I am happy.  I am complete.  God has never left me.