Connect the Dots

You might have already noticed from my mastery of the English language, but my education was... expensive. You might say, "overpriced". Approaching a year out of college, I've been wandering what my liberal arts education really did for me, besides place me in eternal debt to my parents. I am, after all, a graduate with a BA in religion, living on a farm. How in the world is a degree in Religion going to help me in the real world? Is there a tangible set of skills that I've taken from 22 years of schooling?

Happy to say that I think there is. Here it is: "Connecting the dots". That is the phrase I've chosen to describe my education. Thousands of dollars to teach me how to play a simple children's game. Let's think about it, shall we?

Two points spaced apart, with no apparent connection, random, seperate. You have to connect them and thereby change the nature of their relationship so that they are interdependent. And then, like magic, once you've connected the dots, you see the big picture. Or the picture is revealed to you, and you understand. Simple childhood game, yet my poor parents sacrificed a lot for me to learn how to play it. For my part, connecting the dots is what higher education is all about. What good thinking is all about. Connecting supposedly random bits of information, events, places, people, and seeing the bigger picture they create. Here's a relevant set of "dots": 1) A diabetes and obesity epidemic, 2) unchecked industrial food production, 3) extreme environmental degradation, 4) a suspiciously cheap, gigantic mountain of food, 5) rampant poverty across the globe. These are the dots, and they need a solution. The tendency of reductionist science, which reigns supreme these days in American thinking, would be to deal with these dots independently of one another. Better treatments for diabetes, new pills for weight loss, a blossoming organic industry like WHOLE FOODS, state of the art technology for "greener" living, alternative energy, farm subsidies. All of these solutions created without consideration for the relationships between the dots. Reductionist thinking.

However, if we take a page from nature's notebook (a few billion years in the making), we would know that things tend to be so integrated with one another, so unbelievably interdependent, that we miss the connections. To deal with these "dots", you need to connect them and see the big picture. How are diabetes, factory farms, a damaged environment, and poverty connected? When you start asking these questions and drawing the lines, real progress is made with real thinking. Connect the dots, and everything becomes more clear. That is what 22 years of school has given me. Not a mastery of biology, or books, or dogma. Just the ability to step back and connect the dots.

It's funny, you know. We spend so much time trying to grow up and be adults, only to find that thinking like a kid was enough. My defense for my immature sense of humor, as well as Monty Python's.

Winter Madness

Winter. I've been avidly anti-Winter for a long time. As a person whose energy and happiness are directly proportional to hours of sunlight, I become more of a lazy cynic in winter. A long grey season hidden behind walls and roofs, away from the cold, unfriendly outdoors. Keeping your head down and neck wrapped up until the first shoots of green come bearing spring, and then you will no longer have to leave work only to find that it's already dark outside, the day already done. An aversion to winter makes sense, if you think about it. Look at the woods and the animals within. Dormant trees, dead plants, scarce food, hibernation. It's a welcoming season to no one, and it's a wonder that groups of human beings made the exodus into the northern climates at all. Seriously, what were the Nords' ancestors thinking?

However, and there's always a "however" with me, winter on the farm has pushed me ever so gently to think differently. See, winter on a farm is different. The nature of work, of everything, changes. There isn't any grazing, any growing, any bustling spurts of life to keep a farmer immersed in her or his work. It becomes, instead, a time to slow down, to wait, to think, to hibernate, which is something people like me are not used to or good at. Life=busy, or busy=life. That formula is ingrained deep in my brain, and winter on the farm has been a struggle. But, slowly, my perspective has changed, and winter seems different now.

Take lambing and kidding season, for example. As you've seen, our baby kids (goats) and lambs (sheep) are coming in, and their arrival has been marked by times of waiting, and waiting. In the cold afternoon, surrounded by half-asleep goats, nuzzled in the hay, waiting for a doe to give birth, watching for the one miraculous moment. The still barn interrupted by the slow rhythm of steamy breath, and the quiet bays of a mother. Patience and calm, letting the bigger forces in the world do their work, stepping back. Then, in just a breath, the moment comes, and a kid falls onto the hay, wiggling and trembling, taking its first drafts of air and its first glimpse of the world. After that, another time for waiting, as the mother licks clean her new kids, and they try, only minutes after being born, to walk and nurse. Wanting to make sure they are healthy, wanting to witness nature taking its course. Hours can pass watching this simple play unfold, without the need for distraction or the pressure of time. This is what winter can be like. The slow reading of a book, guided by the recognition that some things are infinite and worth waiting for, and that the craze of busy life is coming, has come, will come again. How often do you get the chance to take the time and watch your breath? Enjoy your winter. It may be a gift in disguise.

New Kids

We've had our first batch of kids (baby goats) born on the farm. Last night around 5 o'clock, one of our dwarf goats went into labor and gave birth perfectly to three little buck kids. They're healthy and nursing. More kids are coming.

Here's a video of one of the little buggers.

Dave Jr.

A video of our first baby goat. Little Dave Jr. He looks like superman.