Down on the farm

Generations ago, most people lived in agrarian, rural settings. Even if you weren’t a farmer in those times, you invariably knew farmers and  you lived close to them. How times have changed. These days, most people live in cities. Concrete landscapes. I have no problem with cities. If people want to live in cities, that’s fine. I’m glad I don’t live in one myself.

I live on a farm. Not one with cows and chickens, but one with fields stretching in every direction. Row crop. Strawberries and lettuce and celery and broccoli and cauliflower. In some ways, it’s like living in the middle of a factory. A factory for vegetables (yes, strawberries are fruit). The tractors wake up before 6am, clattering and roaring to life. The harvesting crews start up at about the same time. Sometimes a cultivator or a fertilizer will begin working a little after midnight, his huge lights flaring. The tractors working at night remind me of the big trawlers fishing at night, their lights shining and moving slowly through the darkness.

Despite all that, and despite troubling your conceptions about pastoral farm life, I like living on a farm. It honestly is peaceful, even though modernity has mechanized it to some degree.

Our vegetables are fresh, too.

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