It all started at the sale barn. (Don't most farm stories?) I noticed someone taking photos of the cattle being rushed through with the same focus and determination that a photographer snaps pics at a Milan fashion show. I'm not sure, but it's possible that I even heard an appreciative 'ooh' slip out at one point. I was intrigued. Sure, the cattle were nice, but not necessarily that engrossing. Was this guy a serious cattle buyer? A PETA spy? New type of USDA inspector? A little twisted in the bedroom department?
Being Annie, I couldn't resist, and decided to ask him what kind of crazy person would take pictures at a sale barn. I was, perhaps, a bit more smooth than that, but that was the gyst. (Gist? I'm never sure how to spell that word...) Anyway, turns out he's a photography student from the University of Iowa, from a suburb of a big city, and that was the closest he's ever been to a farm animal before. (Cancel the last of my suspicions about him from above, at least.) He has chosen a farm life theme for his final project.
How could I possibly let anyone get the impression that a sale barn is the best way to learn about farm life!? The next week he was at my house - gathering eggs, petting sheep, meeting the calves, helping to butcher a feisty rooster, getting to know the neighbors, touring a milking parlor, getting a driving tour of the area. I'm hoping to have him elbow-deep in goat guts as soon as possible, and we've already arranged for him to see how they make sausage. (If he survives all that, we'll have him over for a home cooked dinner.)
I can't say what he has learned from all of this, and I certainly wonder what his classmates and friends think! However, the experience has had a profound effect on me. Yesterday as we stood in my neighbors' machine shed, surrounded by sturdy wooden boxes, watching them sort apples (1sts to eat or sell, 2nds to make sauce and cider), I felt good. City Kid snapped picture after picture, in awe of every part of the process. The neighbors assumed their usual 'aww-shucks' attitude, a bit embarrassed that a simple, yearly ritual could cause such excitement in anyone. I found myself somewhere in the middle.
I guess I've dealt with enough apples (picking, washing, sorting, cooking, freezing, canning, saucing, etc...) that I can't quite muster the excitement that my photog friend had, but I also recognize the earthy, autumnal magic inherent in apple harvest time. For that matter, I suppose that's why I am such a rural life convert. I am not faced with the daily drudgery of having to milk cows, but I also am not so far removed from the process that I don't deeply appreciate my neighbors for their hard work as I drink a glass of cold, fresh milk. I even say a hearty 'Thank you, ladies," to the cows out my window when no one is around. (Guess the secret is out now!)
I have done just enough of the grunt work (pulling weeds, pruning trees, hauling feed, mucking, plucking, degutting) to know what it's about - to know why the food I make tastes better than any food I can buy. But, because I am a convert (or because I only have a tiny acreage to care for) I am aware that the grunt work in which I engage is minimal, so I don't lose the novelty and simple joy of the tasks themselves.
Perhaps, like so many other things, this experience and the people who are partaking of it are a part of a pendulum-swing. City Kid is now finding himself swinging toward a thoughtfulness about the food he eats and the hard work that goes into producing it. My neighbors are probably not yet ready to wax poetic about apples, but perhaps are at least a bit more in awe of themselves and each other for the deep-seated skills that they have long taken for granted. And me? Well, like always, I am striving to find and hold onto a happy medium ground - balance, if you will.
So... exactly what city is City Boy from? After all, he is going to U of Iowa, which is not exactly City College of New York. I suspect he had already experienced the aroma of a pig farm before he showed up at the sale barn.
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