Keeper of a Little Piece of Farmland

On this particular Sunday we take an unknown gravel path. While we’ve set out for the cotton fields that line Beaver Dam Church Road, Andrew notices an off-shoot trailing behind the Baptist church.

A reaped field shoulders us on the right side as we pass two small, white houses; the second one with a front porch and green roof, older and sturdier than the first. Rounding a curve away from the field, the road ends on what appears to be the property of the old house.

Four barn structures stand there. The one to our right is open-air, big plows and mowers under its cover. The other three nestle together in the left corner of the home’s backyard, one has a new door that contrasts the weathered wood. A rusted fire pit sits in the middle of the yard and tree stumps surround it. Andrew notices that the wood is recently burnt, although fallen leaves hide it. The trees have turned salmon and gold, and the late afternoon is crisp on our noses.

We retrieve ourselves from a languishing wonder and follow the road that winds roughly through the property, stopping to admire the grandest brown cows either of us have ever seen.

And then suddenly, rising like vomit in my throat, I feel strangely compelled to share something. As Andrew and I start into the woods, I launch a lengthy monologue about how badly I wish I were keeper and lover of a piece of land like this:

“It’s just that, it always seems so unrealistic to think about these things in our society. People don’t up and leave ‘real jobs’ to cultivate a piece of land. They don’t forfeit comfortable circumstances to live off faith and gardens. I mean, I just feel it somewhere down in me that this is what I hope for… But it’s hard for me to realize that other people don’t hope for this kind of thing.

Most people’s dream isn’t to give up a contemporary life in order to live like the frontier. It seems like most people want to make a lot of money and live in fancy homes and afford European vacations. I want a little of piece of wilderness where our friends and family can come and eat real food and walk around in the woods and turn off their computers and shut down their phones.

I want to plant and I want to pick and I want to rub holes in my jeans crawling around on my knees yanking green things out of the ground. I want some kind of rollicking home to put all our visitors up and some kind of laughing kitchen to feed them dinner in.

I want to grudgingly wake up at 5:30 to milk moaning cows for that morning’s cream. I just keep thinking about collards simmering on the stove and fireplaces and Bible readings.

I want to wake up for something real. It’s like every day I go to work and sort of do something. I try to envision the millions of people in offices, computing crap for other made-up things that humans created. A colossal phantasmagoria of our actual existence.

The earth is real; the scratchy bark of giant trees is real; fat brown cows grazing in that field over there, that’s real; our hands and our feet and the dusty ground beneath them is real. I cannot touch the internet or investments or stock exchanges or numbers running in systems configured by computer geniuses. Do I still love and appreciate the computer genius? Yes, I want him to come to my farm house for collard greens!”

Google Earth birds-eye view of the property near Beaver Dam Baptist Church, curve in the road and all.

This post is part of the Weekly Writing Challenge, click here to participate!

 


 

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10 comments

  1. I love this post and you’re not alone, everything you described sounds just great to me: collard greens for the IT geniuses it is! Actually, I’ve lived in a big city all my life and really feel like I would feel happier and “whole”-ier if I lived on a piece of farmland, in the life you described, but I’m scared to make the move; will the city girl in me be able to adapt? Love this post!

    • Love hearing from people of a similar mind. I’m not actually a country girl either, so I more than understand your fear. I think it will be a process of adjustment, but as you said, it seems like a more whole life out there close to the earth. I feel sure we can do it!

  2. Pingback: The Pressables | Truth and Cake

  3. amysavage425@aol.com

    I love this post!

    Sent from my HTC smartphone on the Now Network from Sprint!

  4. Beautiful thoughts… it’s easy to forget that, most of the time, we oughta be thankful, rather than wishful… Thanks for sharing your thoughts… Take care,
    http://3rdculturechildren.com/2012/10/29/i-wish-i-were/

  5. You are not the only one. Many people long for this very dream. A place where they can keep a few chickens and have a few apple trees that end up producing more apples than you know what to do with so you just pick them off the tree and eat them whenever you want. A place where a kid can run and chase the ducks and make a fort out of hay bales.

    I think that’s a dream that many people share.

    • I am thankful to hear from people like you who are making it a reality. Sometimes it is hard to recognize the gleam of those working the earth in the crowd of people exploiting it. Thanks for this encouragement!

  6. Your dream- your reality will materialize and much more….when you start to believe in the possibility of here and NOW – not some ambiguous future. Here is a long video (youtube) of the merging of science (quantum mechanics and the truth of our reality and our ability to access and live any imaginable dream.) This video changed my life! Blessings!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rp-P031C4Vg

    • Thank you for sending this my way! I will definitely check it out and after I do, I’m going to watch the interview you posted on your blog. Thank you for the inspiration, and for all you do with the little furry ones in your world šŸ™‚

      • Please let me know how you like the long video…It was THE thing that provided me with a durable “aha” moment. The language of science – and there is substantial science via quantum mechanics to explain the so-called unexplainable – allowed me to better understand and appreciate the spiritual language of oneness, belief, relative reality, and intentionality. For me, it has been transformative.

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