... a tale of farming on the wane…. a heart sharing from me- jules.
So, it’s been awhile since I’ve written on this blog. There have been several long gaps over these years of having our Shades of Green Farm blog. Each time there’s a reason… sometimes I know exactly what it is and just have a hard time getting past the block. Other times, the weeks just slip away and I’m not even aware of this one-among-many tasks I’m letting slide by. And what’s the issue this time?
Perhaps it’s because the fire trauma took a long time to wear itself out. It pretty much has passed at this point… even though I have to drive through a chunk of the devastation several times a week and there are moments when I feel the tears coming back. Now it’s less about fear (but watch how fast I can pack a bag and get it in the car on a wildly windy day!) and more about grief for the trees and the wildlife and the many displaced people who have no homes to return to. As the thousands of dead trees are cut down and chipped or positioned to reduce erosion, the barren quality of the ash-covered, black-and-white photo landscape I drive through has an impact that at times feels like erosion… the gradual wearing away of my upbeat mood the longer it takes to pass through the burn zone. But my joy returns more easily now.
And there are signs of returning life all over the place! It is amazing and truly hope-filled to see how a fig at Pine Crone Retreat Center has begun to sprout new leaves from the base of the scorched remains of it’s many-branched trunk. In the labyrinth whose rock-shaped paths are now set amidst an ashen ground, the grass is beginning to show itself in thin blades of bright green against the gray background. And some of the vines that once grew on the porches that once surrounded the two houses of Pine Crone—incongruously, the vines begin to emerge—incongruous because there is no structure for them to grow on. A simple fix, this; simply bring back the metal trellises that are now leaning against a fence on our farm… now there’s a use for them again.
So, while the fires shut me down and diverted my attention, I cannot honestly claim that the challenge I face in writing and posting is solely about that. Our land was spared and daily life on the land has not changed very much... or rather, the changes aren't related to the fire. Before the fire, I wasn’t writing here, and two months later I’m still not writing, even as other elements of life returned to 'normal'.
Perhaps it’s because I feel like a fake… writing about farming when our farm work has become so severely limited in scope. And perhaps the part of me that feels relief that this is so, is ashamed as much as the part that is sad feels defeat and failure. The truth is I’ve been a farmer but am no longer farming… and yes, a part of me feels relief.
I have spend many an hour wondering about whether or not “I am a farmer”. Obviously, I was in that I was certainly farming—producing food for others in ways that I felt were sustainable, humane and appropriate. The work was also exhausting and did not earn us a living. So, I doubted. And I missed being a teacher. And missed the energy to engage in art. Now, I am substitute teacher. Now I have more energy. The other restriction on doing art continues—we live in such a tiny space that there is no room to set any work up for longer than a few hours at a time. And that will change—perhaps even soon.
Our farm is up for sale. Our debt load over the double water well expense and trying to build up a farm with limited income, followed by the loss of that income, combined to make staying on our land next to impossible. We’ve sold our camper van, two calves, two flocks of laying hens and myriad equipment since spring, trying to keep ‘farming’ and pay the bills in the absence of reliable income. There’s not much left to sell… except the farm itself… the land, the improvements, the beauty and potential and maybe even the four cows we have left.
And when we move we have the opportunity to live in a home with more than one room; with space to work and to do art and to sleep in peace if the other of us is still up. A place with a bathroom and a tub and shower and enough hot water to take a full blown shower or bath every day… to clean and soak this water-sign-womon as much as I need it… and in so doing, to replenish my own inner well. All this is very good and sits in such odd accompaniment to the sorrow and pain of considering this move away from the land we've loved and lived on for five years.
We don’t know where we’ll go yet. We haven’t sold this place yet either and our prayers ask that the money comes in to stay here and pay our bills until it is sold. And we ask that those who follow care for this land and hopefully continue to develop its agricultural capabilities.
And finally, there's gratitude... for the land, for the opportunity to build our home and farm up from land that contained only cattle and potential. Gratitude for the hands of education that builds deep appreciation for all those who produce our food. Gratitude for finding out what my body and soul were capable of doing... and even what proved to be over-whelming at time.
I want to thank all of you who have followed this blog, who have supported and cared about Shades of Green Farm over the years, who treasure wholesome food and all that means. We may end up somewhere near here (the little town of Elgin is one place that calls us); we may keep raising broilers for ourselves and friends who love them. We just don’t know. I hold myself open to all the possibilities of the wondrous life that is awaiting to unfold… and take with me countless life lessons learned on this land… farming.
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