The essay “The Planting” originally appeared on Jeannie’s Substack. Subscribe here for monthly updates!
On a day when the news is filled with stories of AI destroying humanity, planting lettuce is a good antidote. Farming, after all, is a grand gesture of hope. On my hands and knees in a field of lettuce, planting what will be in approximately 40 days, the foundation for somebody’s grain bowl equates to faith in the future, or at least the near future. It involves tender care, weeding, and watering and I can only hope the diner will eat every last morsel, not be in such a hurry that they push the lettuce aside as scraps.
When I’m not helping on the farm, I’m currently reading ORWELL’S ROSES by Rebecca Solnit, and reminded that even the most dystopian authors, writing during the Great World Wars found solace in a small cottage in the English countryside, tending flowers and harvesting vegetables for personal consumption but also for sale. I find myself in Wisconsin for similar reasons, craving solitude, while also wanting to be a cog in returning to an agricultural system that makes change for the better. I have met neighboring farmers since being on Fritz Rd, primarily women, and they are so attuned to nature, to their livestock and the plants surrounding them. I truly admire their skills and ability to be self-sufficient and survive off the land. Even three months here have provided so many lessons.
Farming is a spiritual act as expressed in agrarian literary tradition of Aldo Leopold, Wendell Berry, even Lord Northbourne whose OF THE LAND AND SPIRIT was lent to me my dear friend over the winter. As I’ve made obvious, I have an ambition of writing about our experience here. Specifically, of what it is like to get started since that has been the most intimidating, gut-punching part of the process. John came home from a conference recently where the key-note speaker and well-seasoned farmer began his remarks with a joke, “Do you know the difference between a fairy tale and a farm tale?” Nobody offering up a reply, he continued, “A fairy tale begins with Once upon a time… but a farm tale begins with, you just won’t believe this shit…” Nice to know we are not alone.
In no way do I want to romanticize this stuff. To arrive on the land and see it as nothing but a pastoral remedy is a terribly privileged point of view. Generations of people have literally been slaves to the land, and even when not actual slaves, have worked tirelessly. There are people who don’t see farmland as beautiful but only see the poverty and misery. Our crew this summer is working under the most intense heat, no rain, the work is hard. So don’t be surprised if what I write doesn’t harken to A YEAR IN PROVENCE by Peter Mayle or UNDER THE TUSCAN SUN by Frances Mayes, nevertheless it will be authentic and honest.
For starters, we have laid down thousands of dollars’ worth of cover crop seeds and haven’t had any rain in over a month. That we were on the verge of beginning an operation in our barn only to discover it is full of lead paint. It is so hot that that dogs don’t want to go outside, and the breeze is one of those hot ones that makes you feel a little mad. There is the solitude and the existence of a crew you are paying for months before you see any income. You must find room in your brain for this impossible combination of urgency and patience. For the natural order of things that is so much grander than us all and will completely outlive us, while doing small bits every day. Instant gratification this is not. Then again, nobody who needed instant gratification would become a writer. Readers sometimes feel as elusive as the diner who doesn’t feel like eating that lettuce leaf.
Still, being surrounded by nature is inspiring and the metaphors are plentiful.