Fin Three

So I broke this whole thing up in three parts, because I've learned that if you do that, it's more likely to get read, because it doesn't seem as long. Ha ha.

Let me close off by sharing a revelation I had during our last potluck with the Winter/Spring volunteers and staff. I've kept in touch with a lot of people who graduated with me last May, or in the years before me, and have found that many of those people haven't been all that happy, or fulfilled, since they graduated. Some just got into work or got jobs they didn't like or care about, others are just nostalgic about the glory days of college, and I guess the rest haven't enjoyed the real world all too much. I feel very lucky that I've avoided all of that so far, and I give all the credit to Heifer International and Overlook Farm. For me, it was a place where every day was new, challenging, and meaningful... and hilariously chaotic. I felt fulfilled by my work every step of the way, and there are not many places that can supply the kind of environment that Overlook did. I mean, come on, where else are you gonna find a house, randomly gathered group of people, herds of livestock animals, and plenty of good, communal work and play, all ready for you? I don't know if I'll ever fully forget my time spent there.

Two final side notes, both of staggering importance: Yes, you'll probably leave the farm poorer than when you arrived (worth it) and NO you do not have to be a hippie to volunteer here.

Fin, Two

But really, I can't include all the things I've learned as a Heifer volunteer. Living in rural New England, working on a farm, meeting all these great people who have come to visit, sharing a house with so many even greater volunteers, getting to know the splendid staff every day, learning about Heifer, livestock, gardening, development, and thelistgoesonandonandononon.... It's so much stuff that I can't really gage how much I've changed, because I can't visualize myself without this experience anymore. Just the simple act of moving a cow fence was mind-opening, not to mention watching a 6th grader start to see what poverty is really like, and the whole nine months is truly beyond description.

So, I loved my time there, obviously, and I'd recommend it to anyone between ages eighteen (only because of legality reasons) and sixty+. Don't think we haven't had volunteers close to both those ages, because we have. Overlook Farm is a wonderful place to learn about the things I listed above, to meet a crazily diverse group of people, to do... everything. I don't know. I think an experience like this, if only for three months, would do just about anyone some good. AND you'll able to get Food Stamps and free healthcare!

Fin, One

So, I haven't kept any of you blog people in the loop. This may be obvious, but I've sort of lost steam with the blogging business. Nothing personal, Blog. It's not you, it's me, honestly.

I am no longer at Overlook Farm, because I got caught trafficking drugs hidden in migrating geese. I would have gotten away with it too, if it hadn't been for those stupid honking geese.

Just kidding. My term simply ended, and it was time to go. That's something that can be hard to recognize, when it is time to leave. But it was the right time for me (that time being around May 20th). In part because, in the months of March and April, the farm started getting busy with groups again, and come mid-May, I had just about worn myself out with the persistent influx of kids and programs. Oh Lords of the Livestock, I got sick of talking about the Global Village.

I guess this would be the time to sum up my experience, or something like that. I'll begin by saying, "Uhhh.... What?" Because that's about as far as I can get before being overwhelmed. Mostly by the things I've learned since the day I showed up on the farm, a naive little city slicker. A friend of mine from the farm actually reminded me recently of the first time I helped put the chickens up for the night, at which point I turned to her and said, "Can you believe we get to do this every day?" Back then, even closing a chicken door was profound beyond belief. Now, I kind of hate putting the chickens up, but that's neither here nor there. The wealth of experience I gained there is truly staggering and wonderful... TBC

Community, Pt. Deux

So thinking more about the word "community" and Heifer's work.

Every time I have a group of blank-th graders visit the farm, I try to talk to them about community, but it's difficult. To understand how important it is. Maybe because so few of us are aware of the communities we rely on, and don't think much about the word itself.

The simple fact about human life is that we need people. Right? Durp. We're social beings, we need friends, family, special someones. We need communities. But that's not enough, unless our friends, families, boy/lady friends are providing us with all our food, shelter, clothing, essentials, transportation, which they don't. Usually, they give us the more abstract stuff, which is part of the fun of living in communal housing on the farm. We (the farm residents) have dance parties, hang out on the porch, cook a lot. People are fun to interact with, make you happy, help you relax, etc. Sometimes, I think this is as far as I go, and beyond that, I don't need anyone else.

Except that I'm actually depending on a far larger group of people, almost all of whom I've never met and never will. Who? Let's see. The people who picked the cotton that made my shirt, or drove the trucks to deliver my food, or built the roof above my head, or work at the phone company that allows me to call my family, or put out fires, or built the roads, or paid for my schooling, or taught me, or decided to contribute to a culture that makes it easy for me to get educated, get a job, and do something with myself. Sum total: a whole hell of a lot of people that I need, just to live a semi-normal, successful life.

This, I think, get's to something about community, i.e., that community is about so much more than a social outlet. We can't survive without other people, because it is hard to live without them. You can't single-handedly grow all of your own food, make all of your own clothes, maintain all of your own property, procure all of your own water, and take care of your own health without a little help. Sure, you can drive to work by yourself, buy groceries by yourself, live a life almost totally by yourself, but communities are hidden behind every step, and they are doing these things for you. Thousands of people who have contributed to maintaining and improving your life and existence, whether you wanted them to or not.

A problem: a lot of those people suffer because of this. Migrant workers picking tomatoes in Florida, getting paid barely existent wages and being exposed to dangerous chemicals. Teenage factory workers in China, making your shirts and living in bunk rooms away from their families and working 14 hour days. Hundreds of thousand of displaced people, living in shanty towns and refugee camps in order to make room for the things your living demands. You can ignore them, but their fingerprints are all over your stuff. And, if you got rid of them, life would become very difficult to maintain. When I think about these communities, I don't get the usual good feeling, and I don't feel so entitled, or care-free.

Is guilt the point? Feeling horrible? I hope not. I didn't personally ask all of these people to suffer for me, and I didn't choose to be born into this system. When I become responsible is when I decide to forget about them once I've discovered their existence. When I send them back behind the curtains, so I can keep feeling comfortable. Which people do, right after they throw up their hands and give up because it's all too big, and too difficult.

So, I try starting with the simple fact: I need people, every step of the way, and relationships are never one-sided, so I need to do my part. This, I think, is not an ideal, or a value. It's a reality, and reality can only be shoved aside for so long. Community, pt. 2.

Quirk

It was brought to my attention last week that I've been slowing down on my blog entries. I realized that I had and wandered why. After some reflection, it occurred to me that I've slowed down on my entries because farm life is less quirky now.

When I first started this blog, I figured it would only be entertaining because farm life is unfamiliar and quirky. As in, "Hey, I milked a goat today" or "The cows got out!" How weird and quirky my life has become here on a farm. This crazy suburbanite kid having adventures. Maybe that's untrue, maybe that's not all that was interesting, but it's what I focused on. Just like reading my sister Becca's blog about Peace Corps in Burkina Faso. I wanted to read about all the crazy things in Africa and see how different they were from my life. Outsider looking in kind of thing.

But, as I've gotten used to the farm, things aren't as strange. More normal. So I've had less quirkiness to report. And it's also occurred to me that life on a farm isn't all that quirky. Sure, it seems to be, because we're all so distant from farms now. But it's not. Besides hunting, farming is one of the oldest human professions, and it's concerned with the most fundamental aspects of human life. Surviving, eating, working, the struggle of eking out a life on this small planet. Once I reconnected to that, I realized that farming is, in fact, not strange at all. It's caught up in the buzz of "organics" and "local food", and this, I think, has distorted people's ideas about farming, making it into something alternative and liberal. White bearded hippies hanging out with carrots, dancing naked in fields. But farming is ordinary, the most basic act of life, and reconnecting to that act is very rewarding. Not for everybody, maybe, but there's something about reengaging life on such a basic level that feels good, and I think this is why people are getting back into it. Not because they're Democrats, or dirty, or severely misguided, but because this is what ordinary people have been doing for hundreds of thousands of years. Which makes me question the way we gage normalcy. What is normal? The new phenomenons of suburban/industrial life that have risen up in the past century, or the traditional, common agricultural lifestyles that have persevered since before human history? Do I know what I'm talking about? Kind of.

Animals

I am sometimes critical of pets and the relationships that people have with their pets. I have reminded my parents a number of times when at home that their dogs are not people, even thought I'm just as guilty as they are of gushing over "puppies" and all that jazz. I guess I've thought for a long time that animals are not people, that the two are distinctly separate, and you shouldn't treat animals like they are people. Part of the thinking here is probably legitimate. For example, one of the reasons I think people love pets so much is that pets are convenient vehicles for projection. How often have I declared what my dog is thinking? Do I know what it's thinking? No. Do I speak dog? No. But the dog can't answer back, can't hold a complicated relationship with me, and I am free to say that the dog is feeling whatever I want it to feel. "You love me," I tell the dog, ignoring the fact that I have no idea if dogs feel love the way human beings do. But it's so much simpler than dealing with those damn humans.

A few days ago, I took a seat in the hoop barn, where we house our sheep, for now. Our sheep are compulsively nervous (partly because they don't get handled enough), and I am not a big fan of theirs. So it was unusual for me to sit with them. But I did. And there was a runt lamb who'd been rejected by her mother and was being bottle fed. A very cute, skinny runt. After she was bottle fed, the livestock volunteer handed her off to me, to hold and keep warm. So I did, for a long time, while curious lambs and ewes came up to me, cautiously, and sniffed and nibbled. Just me, and all these creatures. And it was profound. Watching these sheep, feeling the breath of the little runt against my arms, looking at another lamb straight in the eyes, two living beings witnessing one another for the first time. And what can I say? I felt love. Not projection, but actual love, and connection between me and these animals.

Sitting in the barn, I realized that I've been a little arrogant. Who am I to say what animals are capable of, or incapable of? Who am I to draw rigid lines between human beings and the rest of the earth's species? I don't even understand how people function and relate most of the time, so how can I be so confident, saying that people shouldn't love dogs the way they love people? Thinking that true communication can't happen between "us" and "them". I felt quiet understanding with those sheep, felt two creatures contemplate one another, and I felt love there, not to mention a wonderful kind of simplicity.

The hitch is that I might, hypothetically, be eating these animals soon enough, which is why getting close to farm animals is a slippery slope.

Suburban Acid Blood

What a colorful title. Did it catch your eye?

Living on the farm, talking about global hunger and poverty, and connecting dots has made me think a lot about modern America. Specifically, living in a tight, twenty person community whose members live, work, cook, and play together constantly has really got me thinking. About the word, "community."

How many communities do you feel a part of? We ask this question a lot to our groups, and the answer is usually: family. Specifically, the nuclear family. Maybe a school group or two. And that's it.

The word "neighborhood" is hardly ever mentioned, and I'm left to guess that this is because neighborhoods don't really exist anymore. A modern suburban neighborhood doesn't have any common space, any local shops or restaurants. Kids from different households don't play with one another outside. Parents don't have other parents from down the street over for dinner. I myself experienced this as a kid. We had a park right outside our house, and I rarely ventured outside to play there with other kids, choosing the seclusion of my room and video game world instead. Why?

The lack of neighborhood troubles me, because neighborhood is, and has been for millennia, the most readily available form of community. I mean, come on. They all live with you and share common space (and resources) with you. So, if neighborhoods are disappearing, this leads me to believe that communities are disappearing. And this, my friends, worries me.

It is difficult to talk about the reasons for community's demise. At least not without rambling. So I'll focus on suburbans. A lot of us probably live in some type of suburb, which probably includes a large, one-family home, two or three cars, a few televisions, considerable front/back lawn space, a lot of commuting, and a lot of time spent alone. The suburb, if you step outside your house and look at it, is designed to keep people apart. Every house has an individual lawn, fences, driveways. It is so well designed to achieve this purpose that few suburban residents ever have to meet their neighbors. A walk from the door to the car, and back from the car to your door, without ever having to talk to another person. And industry is helping out. In the car, you've got your radio or i-pod to tune out to, while your kids watch a DVD in the back seats and text. You don't even have to look at one another. Your own personal paradise. After a stressful day and long hours at work (which more and more suburban Americans have), there are restaurants, and groceries stories full of prepared meals so you don't have to cook (one of the oldest ways in which people commune), and 5,000 television channels to help keep you and your family keep secluded and relaxed. Not to mention video games. No tiresome family games, or community meals. Sweet, sweet seclusion.

I recently saw an ad for Verizon's Fios TV, where even more personal televisions can link up with one box. Which means? Every room can have its own television so that every member of your family can watch a different channel, in a different room, at the same time!! The ad was clever enough, but if you step back, it's frightening. A house in which no one person is in the same room. (And parents, you WONDER why your suburban kids get into trouble?) Is this what we want? It's certainly what is being sold, and we, as consumers, are very good at buying what is being sold.

These days (returning to earlier point), most of us seem to associate these two things together: seclusion and relaxation. When we are stressed, which is often, we want quiet, alone time, which we promptly fill with distraction. Is this working for us? I can't help but doubt it, and I realize that, more often than not, I am most relaxed when I am with people, laughing, smiling, telling stories. Not sitting on a couch staring at a bright screen. People talk about the glory days of college a lot. Best times of their life. I suspect that this might be why. In college, you are constantly in community. Class, dorms, frats, dining halls. Then you graduate, move into a single apartment, get a family, build a cocoon in the suburbs (though it seems that today, more and more college students want single dorm rooms). I invite you to think about community and what it does for you, or might do for you. I invite you to observe how much time you spend alone, and I invite you to see the resources and consumption that is involved in you spending that time. Thus ends the first part of my tirade about community. Please don't think I'm being "holier than thou". I'm doing these things myself.