Not That You Are Asking For My Advice....

Not that you are asking for my advice…

On a routine basis someone will say to me.  “I’ve always want to farm-to dig deep into fertile soil-to grow things.”  I could just break into song, a Dixie Chick classic.  ”I wanna touch the earth, wanna break it in my hands, wanna grow something wild and unruly.  Cowboy ta-aa-ake me away.”  

On days like today-cold, clean, grace-filled days where the dust caked cob webs look like planned art and the barn dust itself glitters gold in the sun-shot crystal air, the beauty exceeds the losses.  These days are “to the brim,” hope-filled! 

The brain cells fairly pop with anticipation. Maybe in the Spring I’ll get a few more sheep, and maybe I’ll try to breed the goats AGAIN just to prove to myself that I believe in miracles.  Perhaps if I change the goats’ names to Elizabeth and Sarah, God will bless them in their old age with kids.  Maybe a few more chickens and ducks.  A burro would be fun right?  I need one just so I can say “ass.”  My kids are cautioned against swearing on this farm, but there is something cleansing about hauling off and calling a stubborn creature an ass! 

“More,” and “new,” look beautiful on a day like this when nobody is sick, or maimed, or looking puny.  But, I know fully that there are too many snapshots of the lost pinned onto this heart.  Tragedy is a constant on this parcel of dirt.  I can’t walk 50 paces without recalling which animal is buried where, or thinking. “Here is where I held that sweet hen, Timon, who died in my arms, or here is where the rusty feathered wing of my favorite rooster, Squarky, lay, or there is where all of the cows lined up to mourn when the baby calf, Mo-Mo, died.

If you were asking for my advice, I might tell you to “Stick with plants. Be happy with their wild and unruly.  Be happy that you don’t have to force yourself to think happy thoughts every time you look into a cow’s face just to keep yourself from bursting into sobs.”   But, if you only contented yourself with plants, you might miss out.

You would never hear the rooster’s low coo and watch his chivalry as he brings choice insects to the hens, never eating first, always giving the hens the first fruits, the juiciest grubs.  You wouldn't notice the two roosters who wrapped their necks together tenderly for warmth just this morning.  You wouldn't feel yourself giggle at the goats running and jumping on an unseasonably warm day looking like Santa’s reindeer attempting flight.  And you wouldn't see those same goats pirouetting to eat the too-tall privet hedge carving it into a tunnel.   You wouldn’t hear the emphatic glee in the duck’s quacks on the cold days-the dreary puddle filled days.  You know, those days where you want to live in sweat pants, curl up in a blanket, and not face the bleak.  Those are the days that ducks live for!  I find myself eager to go out on those days now, just to hear their enthusiasm!  If you stayed safe, only raised greens and flowers and fruit, you would miss it!

So if indeed you are asking for my advice- DO IT!  Buy the farm. Dig in the dirt until your nails won’t come clean again. Raise some chickens.  Name all of the animals.  Rejoice in the first egg and also in the last breath.  Know that we are connected to what we eat and invariable whom we eat (Clucky, or Bessie, or Foghorn Leghorn).  In fact, we are connected by the souls to the creatures in our care. 

If you choose to live risky, then know that the losses will come, and the money will utterly fly from your hands like a game of 52 pick up.  However, the  joys, the joys will change you, soften you, harden you, mold you into a wrinkled and creased being wise to life's unfolding. Wise to behold the sparkle in the hatching of a new life all downy and tissue covered and wise to embrace also the dull marrow-aching departure of a friend. The gains? The losses? No spreadsheet can contain the truth-the truth that being close to the dirt, caring for creatures, succeeding, and even suffering makes you feel whole. 

  

“Cowboy ta-aa-ke me away.  Fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue.  Set me free-ee.  Oh, I pray.  Closer to Heaven above, and closer to you.” –Dixie Chicks