Life, the Universe, and Everything

I like answers. I like my problems to have solutions, my questions to have yes or no, black or white, right or wrong answers. I think this is why, while I never loved math, I always found something soothing in the orderly “this follows that and then you find an answer” nature of math. My brain liked the concept of one correct answer, and a set way to arrive at this answer. I also think this is why art and theater design frustrated me; I didn’t like the ambiguity of so many unanswered questions. I prefer certainty.

So when I say that one of the things I like about farming is that it has no answers, this may seem out of character.

I also like inclement weather. When it snows and sleets and freezes, I like to watch the forecasters talk in urgent voices, keeping us all updated on the coming disaster, acting like they have just No Idea how such a thing could possibly be happening to us. I like how people talk about bad weather as if it is a travesty to their carefully laid plans. We are so used to surety, solidity. I kind of like it when the natural world steps in and shakes up our solid ground.

We are in control of almost everything. Our cars give us independence, allowing us to control where, when, and how fast, we go places. We have many different options of where and what to eat, available from dozens of different restaurants and supermarkets. Stores stay open late, so we have free choice of when we shop. But this infinite variety of options comes to a screeching halt when the weather turns bitter, causing us to lose control. Bad weather takes me outside myself, showing me that there are forces greater than my own will for order.

In the same way, I like that human beings have been farming for thousands of years but still have not gotten it quite perfect yet. There is no one answer to any problem, no one right way to do something. There are too many factors—personality of the farmer, location, climate, materials, community, and more—that affect the way things are done.

Sometimes I just want to scream at all the uncertainty, the wrong guesses. But when I examine my reaction I see that it is just my desire to impose order on my world, to bring it under my control. I like the reminder that the world is not run by me, that it is not even remotely about me. This is one of the best lessons a farmer, or anyone else for that matter, can learn. We need to learn how to work with the earth instead of fighting against it, to take the unexpected with grace and forbearance, and not let our world come to a halt just because what worked last time didn’t work this time.

It is a humbling experience, not always being right. It is a first step toward learning to walk lightly on the earth, realizing that we are not the only, the first, or the last to live here. If a farmer had all the answers she would not have to pay very much attention to the world around her, and could farm on automatic pilot. But with constant change and ambiguity, she has to pay very close attention to her environment, and in so doing can take better care of the earth and everything on it.

There are forces beyond ourselves that defy our desire for control; instead of seeing them as an interruption of our lives, we ought to try and find ways to work within and accept change and uncertainty. We need to live close enough to the earth that we can see and understand the subtleties at work in this ancient, complex world that cannot be reduced to a few simple rules and straightforward answers.