I vividly remember going to a family reunion lunch when I was in seventh grade and sitting down next to a cluster of women and men wearing traditionally Mennonite dress. My dad had explained that the Mennonite family present farmed an area of land that belonged to a member of our distant family– I think they tended several traditional crops and raised cows. I had always been interested in farms and farming, and had recently begun investigating possible apprenticeship opportunities; I sat by the Mennonite family with the hopes, I suppose, of overhearing or engaging in a discussion of their farming history. Instead, a vague relation turned to me and asked what I wanted to do with my life. I replied that I had been thinking a lot lately about farming, and that I thought that work would be rewarding. The cousin responded loudly, “why on EARTH would you want to be a farmer?” The Mennonite family was silent. I was mortified. The cousin reminded me that my great-grandfather had farmed so that his kids wouldn’t have to. I scrambled to defend myself, without much eloquence or success. Retrospectively, I guess I’ve been trying to form a convincing defense ever since– whether I end up working a sheep and wool farm or merely tending to my own basil, I know that growing or raising living things will play a part in my future.
Berry writes that the Amish “esteem farming as both a practical art and spiritual discipline.” I realize that what bothered me most viscerally about my cousin’s reaction at that lunch was not that she dismissed my interests as inadequate, or that she spoke in a way I thought was inconsiderate– it was that she did not esteem the work– practice, art, discipline —of farming that I felt (and still feel) deserves a kind of reverence and thanks. I believe so viscerally in the potential of farm work– participating in the exchange of nurturing for nourishment– to serve an artistic and spiritual function. In my internship this summer, I have the opportunity to speak with 9, 10, and 11-year olds about the importance of the work f0od-growers and -raisers do. Berry’s words will definitely guide my discussions; I guess I hope to help these kids come to the conclusion that farm work can be worthy of high esteem– awe– and to broaden my own understanding of that work.
Hi Elizabeth,
Your story about the (your?) Mennonite family was very engaging and it definitely made me question the idea of farming as an art, as you did in the latter part of your post. But I also think that personally, I can’t even come close to comprehending what it’s like for farming to be my main source of income. Working in the hot sun for hours on end with no weekends or “time off” is not the norm in the community in which I grew up. In my view, because when I farm it is my choice and not a necessity, I can more easily be an art or spiritual exercise. But for someone who has been forced to wake up at the crack of dawn and harvest produce, weed, etc all year, I imagine that it becomes harder to experience farming as an art. I believe that it can definitely still be done, but may take more intent and effort than it takes for me and many others who have grown up in non-farming communities.
I completely agree with your efforts to teach farming in this way to kids at your internship. I too hope that farming will be viewed as an “artistic and spiritual function” into the future rather than as a job one tries to escape.