A Good Pace

"... as I have thought through my early memories of being on those farms, I can't remember a farmer who was ever in a hurry. Farmers characteristically work hard, but there is too much work to do to be in a hurry. On a farm everything is connected both in place and in time. Nothing is done that isn't connected both in place and in time. Nothing is done that isn't connected to something else; if you get in a hurry, break the rhythms of the land and the seasons and the weather, things fall apart - you get in the way of something set in motion last week or month. A farm is not neat - there is too much going on that is out of your control. Farms helps us learn patience and attentiveness ..." - Eugene Peterson, reflecting on Wendell Berry's poetry in Eat This Book.

Saturday is farmer's market day in Owensboro, and while the market is not much right now (a few stands of flowers and a sampling of greens like bok choy and romain lettuce) it does include a Mennonite farmer. This past Saturday Anna asked me to make the trip out to see him since I needed the car for my Saturday morning hoops game.

So I showed up - sweaty and hoping I hadn't missed him. And as I got out of the car (which I had proceeded to drive like I was running away from the po-po of Owensboro) and strode over to the farmer's trailer, I quickly noticed two other customers - a young man and wife about my age - making a purchase for their coming week. Off to my left was a lettuce stand, which I also needed to visit. I figured the couple ahead of me would be done with their order in a few seconds, I'd tell the farmer what I needed, pay him, turn to the lettuce stand, get the goods there, and be off.

About thirty seconds into my waiting, I started to feel some awkwardness. For one thing, the guy selling lettuce was all by himself. I could have easily gone over there, grabbed the lettuce and been back in no time with the farmer. And, secondly, I didn't want to make the couple in front of me nervous (or offended by my gross amount of sweat).

But, by this time I couldn't leave my spot. I was struck by the manner in which the farmer was doing his work. He was methodically going about his trailer - looking into one freezer, grabbing a package of bacon, going over to a sheet, marking off an item with pencil, going to another freezer for a couple steaks, going back to the sheet, over to the fridge for a half gallon of milk and a half a pound of butter, back to the sheet, then calculating the total with pencil and paper. All of this took probably five minutes or so, which seemed like a nuisance in the first minute. However by minute four I realized the girl in front of me was wearing an "In 'N Out" t-shirt and which led to a brief conversation about their experience out west and what brought them to Owensboro. By minute five I discovered the women behind me (who appeared a few minutes after my arrival) had a daughter in the hospital whom she asked me to pray for.

The pace of this man's work slowed my own down, allowing much growth that I otherwise would have missed in my haste. And, on top of all that, I have been drinking the finest milk I've ever had in my life. Not bad for a Saturday morning.

Wes