77th Edition
There is a small farm behind our house. Rather dilapidated, home to a feral pig named Charlotte, and several chickens. I love wandering around the back pasture, as I call it. Just enjoying the quiet solitude, while listening and watching for red-tail and red-shouldered hawks, which occasionally fly by. Majestic birds, silent, solitary hunters. In a strange way, I envy them.
A few years ago, I planted several fruit trees at the farm. Two plum, one peach, and two apple trees. I also planted several berry bushes, raspberry, blackberry, and blueberry. I’ve yet to reap any kind of harvest. Farming is hard. Plants and trees that you want to grow and flourish seem to struggle, while plants you try to eliminate always seem to survive and prosper. Did I say farming was hard?
Still, there is something peaceful about being on a farm. Leaning against a fence rail, listening to the sounds of the animals or the breeze through the trees. These sounds, the voice of nature, can be soothing to the soul.
In my small hometown, there were a lot of farms nearby. Dairy farms mostly, rather small and family-operated, often from one generation to the next. Some of my classmates were farmers. The valedictorian of our high school class lived on a dairy farm. Brilliant student, all-state in the oboe, of all things, as I recall. Another farming friend was also at the top of our class. He was a great athlete. Strong and fast, but for some reason he never went out for any sport. I tried unsuccessfully to convince him to try out for the basketball team. He could have been a great defensive player. Keeping up with his studies and chores at the farm remained his top priorities. A third friend wasn’t a farmer, but his parents had the most amazing backyard garden I’ve ever seen. Tomato plants, that were taller than I, produced delicious, mouth-watering tomatoes, which his mom used to make the best sauce and hand-made pizza I’ve ever tasted. We were close friends, but I think I liked his mom’s pizza as much as I liked him. He also finished at the top of our class and became a doctor. Perhaps there is a pattern here that bears mentioning…
All these young men worked extremely hard, were focused and determined to achieve their goals. They weren’t the most popular kids, sometimes they didn’t quite fit in, but they were proud of who they were, loyal, and honest. I admired each of them.
Where would our country be without farmers? Where would the world be, for that matter? I’ve been fortunate to get to know a few local farmers even as farmland continues to succumb to never-ending development. Development, a strange term, really, for what is happening where I live in North Carolina. Housing communities and shopping centers going up all over the place, often on land that had been farmed for generations. Development implies progress and better use of resources. In this case, I’m not so sure…
The local farmers I’ve gotten to know seem to have a different perspective than big city folks. They don’t seem to be in a rush, they take things in stride, so to speak. They also realize that there is a cycle to just about everything, and although it may sound like a cliché, more often than not, you do reap what you sow. What goes around, comes around, as we used to say. A strong work ethic, and a commitment to loyalty and integrity produces a certain kind of character. So does the opposite. Basic stuff, really.
Farmland, back pastures, and wilderness, all seem to beckon us at different times in our lives. They reach out to us, touch our soul, give us pause and perspective. God sure created an incredible planet. Are we being good stewards of all that He has given us? Nature moves at a slower pace than we do. Do we move too fast? What is the rush? Back pasture wanderings make me contemplate such questions. Contentment might come not when our questions are answered, but when we have no questions at all.
Wilderness is a great place to slow down and reflect. To be in the moment, where all the special
connections take place. Until then, as we wrestle with our thoughts, we can only wonder…
What is calling way out there?
Beyond the desk we sit and stare.
What is calling way out there?
A freedom search, quite possibly.
In wilderness we long to be.
Where all around the boundaries gone.
In solitude from dusk ‘til dawn.
In quiet search for self-reliance.
To continue on – no small defiance.
Our choice to make, should we turn back?
Not from fear nor courage lack.
But search we must, inside the lines.
For freedom lies within our minds.
What is calling way out there?
An echo from a calling near.
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Michael Kayes
*These views are my personal opinions and are not the viewpoints of any company or organization.