Food and Farming

Sometimes I miss my farming days.  I realize as I write this that it sounds like my farming days were many, but I only farmed for a season.  It was the first time I grew anything in my life.  I learned so much working that season at the farm that it's almost hard to put it into words.  I think I almost feel certain things in my life are so sacred that I don't want to expose them to everyone, and sometimes I like to sit with things for a long time and process.  This is why, I suppose, we have so many stories to tell when we are in our rockers. 

I'm still wrestling with what makes me tick, what I love, what I want to do with my one precious life.  I've taken many roads and discovered lots of things I despised- labs with no windows, piles of mice, helping a dentist, cleaning up toilets, ringing people up at a convenience store.  I'm sure I could think of plenty more.  It's not that I'm too good for those jobs, but it's that I've done them for survival and would love to expand myself.  Farming is something that has stuck with me as something I love. 

One thing that brings people to a farm, I believe, is a love of food.  Good farmers eat well.  I learned again the joy of simple meals- back when cellars, canning, storage and preservation were always in style.  The managers of the farm, Steve and Cindy, were brilliant, industrious, true Mainers.  I admired the way they had built a home for themselves, made their own wine, and at any point might have thirty or forty jars of jams/jellies on hand.  They never wanted to go out to eat, because they cooked everything better.  How can one person hold so much knowledge, skill, craft? Cindy had elaborate, elegant handwriting, and I could easily picture her in older school teaching days dressed to the nines and in heels.  She still had such class in her blue jeans, straw hat, and blue eyes.  Steve, a retired chemist, knew weather patterns, garlic weaving, sheep skinning, and a million other things.  He also had a wicked dry sense of humor.  Every day was a treat because these people were my managers.  We gabbed about the rich people in Northeast Harbor, about all the kids at COA that look like they don't have money but are little trust fund babies.  I learned a little bit about their life and outlook every day.  They were against technology, and they felt for farmers.  My awareness of how hard farming is grew, and I wanted to support the small man more than ever.  I learned so much from these people and the other people I worked with at the farm- Richie, Derek, David, Sarah, Bridgette and Rebecca. 

I gathered eggs from the chickens, cleaned out chicken coops, mothered chicks and baby turkeys and watched them grow and unfold.  I saw Richie drum his Indian beats and get them excited.  I watched the beauty of a mother Hen shield and protect her babies literally right under her wings, keeping them warm and safe.  We checked on the sheep every day and I saw how stupid they are in their ways.  They follow in a pack, bumping heads, easily frightened, but they recognize the familiar voice.  It was a beautiful picture of Christ, the Shepherd, and I, the sheep.  There's nothing like seeing it for yourself and experiencing the "metaphor". 

I loved watering the plants, planting tomatoes, cucumbers (HUGE), lettuce (so many kinds), carrots, radishes, basil, parsley, lavender, potatoes, beans (my absolute favorite to pick!) I loved the purple beans and raw! We also grew kale, spinach (fresh spinach!), carrots, beets,  kohlrabi (a beautiful vegetable that was new to me- purple and green in our greenhouse), squash, pumpkins, berries, rosemary, and on and on.  The work was hard, and it rained a lot that summer, but I loved being outside, working in the sun, being free, learning about something I've always dreamed about doing and in my blood.

I remember feeling how I could never go back to the grocery store and see it the same way while I was at the farm.  Just as I feel a person is "ruined" after they've lived on the coast, I feel "ruined" by fresh eggs, fresh everything! Every time I go to the grocery store and pick up eggs, I feel a little disappointed, and I miss my farming days.  I learned from Steve and Cindy how a good meal can consist of a simple side like pickles- that's the way people used to eat.  They preserved the fresh vegetables for out of season times, so they could still eat gloriously healthy foods. 

I am getting older.  We all are.  I know my body aches and pains only increase with time, but I do enjoy the physical labor involved with farming.  I like being worn out at the end of the day.  I like working through things in my soul as I weed, plant, water, restore.  I also know that farming is a difficult job.  I feel I connect most to the land, not the city.  I connect most to nature, not the rat race.
I experienced farming, and I've been ruined.