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"When
I am called ... a devotee of 'simplicity' (since I live supposedly as a 'simple
farmer'), I am obliged to reply that I gave up the simple life when I left New
York City in 1964 and came here. In New
York, I lived as a passive consumer, supplying nearly all my needs by purchase,
whereas here I supply many of my needs from this place by my work (and
pleasure) and am responsible besides for the care of the place." - Wendell
Berry, Imagination in Place
I am, by
no means, a Wendell Berry. But, I
understand him enough now to know what he meant when discussing the delusion of
country simplicity and ease. The
so-called "simple life" of living in the country is anything but
simple, a lesson I have been learning these past three and half years. But, unlike Berry, my first home was not the
farm. My native soil was suburbia; my native
experience that "passive consumer" that Wendell Berry could never
become. So, the lessons are harder for
me to learn and they come with more resistance.
But, I am learning.
It still
amazes me how much work home-steading requires, fearfully much. Although our efforts are meager compared to
many, we have our share. We have animals
that require our daily attention. We
work a small garden to give us some food we can bring to our table. We mostly make our meals from scratch. We cut and collect lumber to heat our home
throughout the winter. And, beginning
this past week, we home-school our two children. Either by choice or by necessity, a good
portion of our day goes to some form of production.
Is it
worth it? Yes, there's no doubt in my
mind there is. But, is it simple or
easy? Oh, hell no.
About a
year ago, I made a trip all the way up to Avon, Indiana. Although it seems as though it should be just
a mere skip over to Avon, it's a full forty-five minute drive. Anything resembling mass suburbia, for that
matter, is forty-five minutes from our home.
The Targets and Lowe's and Olive Gardens of the world seem as exotic to
us as Parisian cuisine. So, it is only
natural, that in the rare occasion I do find my way to such cultural-hubs, I
cannot help but happily consume some (relatively) exotic treat.
My
convenience of choice on this trip:
Chick-fil-a. It was still morning
commute time, as indicated by the caravan of cars and SUV's wrapped around the
building. I decided to go in and found
at least three young-looking attendants ready to serve me. I stepped forward, placed my order (a
chicken-biscuit and orange juice), and within three minutes the nice young lady
was passing a crisp-white bag and a plastic cup across the counter.
"That
will be $2.37, sir," she said. I
did a double-take.
"Are
you sure?" I said, figuring she had forgotten to tally my sandwich.
"Nope. That's right.
We are offering free breakfast sandwiches this morning," and she
handed me my orange juice and bag with a big smile of happiness. She knew she had made my morning, a fact that
was confirmed when not more than five minutes later I was driving on towards my
next chore - consuming my breakfast. The
sandwich was hot, but not too-hot. It
was seasoned well, and the taste was pleasing - a wonderful mixture of soft and
crispy. The orange juice was fresh. And, all told, it was unbelievably
cheap. To make the same meal at home
would have required my whole morning and at least $10. And, in all likelihood, it wouldn't have been
nearly as consistent or enjoyable.
In other
words that $2.37 included much more than just a six-ounce chicken-breast
seasoned and fried, a mass-produced buttermilk biscuit, and a
industrially-produced and shipped cup of orange juice. It also included freedom and unrestrained
enjoyment, all pleasure and no work.
From one
point of view, who can honestly argue with such freedom and enjoyment? Who, in their right mind, wouldn't want the
Chick-fil-a world of convenience, consistency, and affordability? No one willingly, and I say that from
experience. Trust me. That old child of suburban consumerism lives
strong in me. He wants such convenience; he expects
such convenience.
But, of
course, the Chick-fil-a economy is not just an economy of convenience,
consistency, and affordability. Seen
from another point of view, it is actually an economy of tremendous
inconvenience, inconsistency, and heavy costs.
For one thing, while my $2.37 breakfast hardly cost me anything, it cost
a great deal to provide it to me - including those important "hidden"
costs. No doubt it is industrial food,
which meant that it wasn't just that nice young lady who gave me that
meal. It came via a whole army of
workers, some of them working in unfair or unhealthy environments, and that is
to say nothing about the potential destructive farming habits used to produce
the meal. Then think about the
ridiculous notion that my $2.37 breakfast required at least a thousand miles of
transportation and fuel (including my own forty plus miles) to consume a single
meal that would last me half the day.
Seen this
way, this way of life is clearly unsustainable.
It simply is not feasible to keep living in this type of economy. But, the kicker is that it seems feasible. Nothing seems wrong with someone handing you
a bag full of fresh, hot food for next-to-nothing. In fact, everything about it seems right.
Towards
the end of his essay titled Imagination
in Place, Wendell Berry adds:
"Hovering over nearly everything I have written is the question of
how a human economy might be conducted with reverence, and therefore with due
respect and kindness toward everything involved. This, if it ever happens, will be the
maturation of American culture."
If I have
received no other gift of living on our small farm for three and a half years,
it is this: at least Wendell Berry's
question is now planted firmly in my conscience. What does it look like for me to live and
work in a way that is reverent, that is respectful, that is kind, and that
honors God's creation?
Actually,
to borrow that old image of the "good" and "bad"
conscience, I now live with two little guys trying to whisper in my ear. The one we'll call "reverent, respectful
steward" tries to remind me of the value of the work I'm doing in and with God's creation and in the
pleasure derived there from. And, the
other? Well, let's just say he has no
problem getting his message across.
Chick-fil-a is only forty-five minutes drive after all.
Wes
Wes
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1 comment:
That's a good word. Thanks.
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