Find Your Farm

“And they are all still here, still farming” -Hannah Coulter

Photo by Mallorie Terranova

Now that I’m in my forties, I’ve noticed some things about myself that point to a similar theme. First, I love cows. I can’t help it. Every time we drive past a field of those majestic creatures I automatically announce, “look at the cows!” as if I had never seen a cow before in my life. It’s become a joke in our family. Ross tells me the ancient Greeks felt similarly, so apparently I’m not alone. Second, looking out at a wide open space, whether it be an ocean, field, or patch of grass, brings me a sense of peace and belonging. I don’t function very well without regular moments to stare at expansive spaces. I think I need to be reminded that I am small and the world is big. Third, while watching the Yellowstone/1923 TV series last year, Ross pointed out that it was the first show in years that kept me awake for entire episodes at a time. I kid you not. I always fall asleep watching TV. It’s my thing. Put on Die Hard and I’m asleep in ten minutes, but show me some cowboys, and I’m LOCKED IN for hours. Lastly, I love it when Ross wears a good flannel shirt. I made the connection recently that I think it’s because it represents a man farming his fields…someone strong, capable, and trustworthy, ready to pick up that ax and bring wood home to his family. He’s worn a flannel shirt every day since I told him this.

What is the connection between these realizations? Perhaps that I am meant to live on a farm with real cows. But also, I think we’re all meant to live more like farmers… more embodied lives with a bit of dirt under our fingernails, tired from a solid days’ work. Too many of us have busy lives and manicured hands. We are tired, yet not content. Working, yet without a clear connection to our purpose and place in the world.

Lately I’ve been thinking about how our family’s life is actually a lot like the life of a farmer (sadly without the cows and the actual farm). I’ve also been thinking about how discontented our generation has become as we have lost touch with what it means to work hard and enjoy the land we’ve been given. In the not-so-distant days of our agricultural ancestors, kids didn’t grow up with the nagging question, “Who am I?” Well, maybe they did. But not to the same extent. They didn’t lose sleep over finding their purpose in life. To some extent, they knew it. They worked the fields and milked the cows. Their muscles were sore at night, but grew stronger each day. And they knew exactly where the food on the table came from (Bessy out back!).

It’s a blessing that we now have endless options for the food we eat, the clothes we wear, our vocations and mates, but it is also a curse. Sometimes having endless possibilities and opportunities can leave us feeling a bit lost. “Who am I? Where do I belong? What is my purpose?” These are all questions I see the young folks in our circle struggling with as they enter adulthood. Our own generation was hardly different. We send our kids to daycare and school, and we run in a million different directions until we stop one day a decade later and say, “What are we doing?” But what if it’s not as complicated as we think? What if, in a way, we all need to become farmers again?

I’ve been watching The Little House on the Prairie with my twelve year old, Susu. In Little House, when you’re twelve years old and Pa dies, you help take over the responsibilities of the farm, because you’ve already learned how to be a farmer. You cry, of course, but then you get to work. Nowadays, you’re twenty-two years old, and if you’re lucky, you just spent four years at college either on your parent’s dime or racking up debt, only to come out of it feeling just as lost and confused, with the added pressure now of having to design your whole future from scratch.

*I have also noticed the way college kids who work for us at our summer camp absolutely thrive in the summers when they are working hard with their hands and being counted on, then go back to college and feel a bit lost again. But more on that later.

I recently read Wendall Berry’s Hannah Coulter, and have been struck by the parallels between our life and life on a farm. Our year is broken up into clear seasons with different purposes and paces. Our livelihood depends largely on the weather. In the summer months, our bodies are sore from hard work, and our hearts are full because of it. We didn’t plan it to be this way, but through our surf camp rhythms (along with a hefty dose of beauty and the Holy Spirit at work), we seem to be harvesting something like JOY. We also view parenting and how we operate in our community with that same purpose.

But farming anything is costly. In the book, Hannah, the mother-turned-grandmother of the farm/household, laments the fact that all of her children grew up and moved elsewhere. Of course, it’s complicated, she admits: “How could you look at your boy and say that he ought to spend his life at the hardest work, worrying about money and the weather.” She doesn’t try to convince them to stay. But, in the end, each of her children end up with an even harder and more disconnected life, because of their “progress.” She had wanted this “progress” for them. She wanted, like every mom, for her children to “have it all”… every opportunity… more than what she had. That’s the modern role of a parent isn’t it? To give your child better or more than what you had? Both Hannah and her husband had not gone to college, so naturally she wanted that for her own children. But sadly, the pursuit of “better” sent her children into all different directions, never to return home, and seemingly, never to be as content as they once were. Meanwhile, the family nearby who had seven children, only two of whom graduated high school, all chose the life of farming, working with their hands, and making use of what they had. And they seemingly ended up with happier, more fulfilled lives.

(Disclaimer: I’m not at all saying that Hannah’s desires for her children to “have more” is wrong. I am simply pointing out that there is a shadow side to progress, and it’s worth considering what we are throwing out when we make decisions for “more”… More education, more experiences, more to put on our resumes…when we may becoming less and less grounded in who we are meant to be).

Hannah’s husband notes that all three of his children had become “employees,” working for organizations that would eventually cast them aside and replace them, while he enjoyed a life of working for no one except himself and the land. This was true freedom, from his perspective.

The book left us wondering if “having it all,” the pursuit of more, is all that’s it’s cracked up to be. What if what our families need most (besides to know they are loved) is to learn how to work hard and find purpose in the givenness of things? In our modern professional culture, we are trained to succeed in a specific vocation, yet without emphasis on the process…on who we are becoming. But isn’t that the most important part?

Jobs are good. We all need them. Education is too. The world needs us to continue to educate ourselves in specific fields that help build and heal the kingdom of God. But let’s not lose sight of the farm we’ve already been given. That farm may not be clear to us at first. But we may not have to search as hard and as far as we think to find it. If you’re a parent with kids at home, that farm begins right there. It may extend well beyond. But it begins there. If you’re young and single with endless opportunities, look for a community to serve that will keep you grounded. Where are you needed? Where do you have some small roots already established? Start there and continue to grow your invisible “trust bank” as my husband likes to say.

George Bailey, in the classic It’s A Wonderful Life, had great plans for himself to see the world, educate himself, and build things. Yet his father’s passing and a whole host of other circumstances continued to keep him “stuck” in Bedford Falls to keep the family business going and prevent the town from being taken over by the evil Mr. Potter. The scene when George is being offered a chance of a lifetime stands out as a pivotal time in his life. He’s looking at wide-eyed Mary right in front of him, on the phone with Sam Wainwright (who is offering a chance to go into business with him), then completely loses it, shouting to Mary, “Now you listen to me… I don’t want to get married… I want to do what I want to do!” But in the next moment, he lays all that aside. He decides to stay in Bedford Falls and run the family business. That was the farm right in front of him, which he was tempted to forego for the sake of new experiences, progress, and the pursuit of more.

Fast forward to the end of the movie, and we see the beautiful farm he has cultivated. His family, his community…a wonderful life. He forewent fortune and worldly gain not even realizing he was gaining something far more valuable…trust. In the end, he was saved by his community, because he had invested in the invisible bank for all the years prior to his crisis. “To George Bailey,” his brother toasts in the final scene, “the richest man in town!”

I was talking recently with one of our summer surf camp staff who said that his time working with us at Surf Hatteras had felt far more fruitful than anything he has experienced in college. This is noteworthy, as the college years for most are known for being a season unlike any other season in life when you seem to have full freedom to use your time however you please. “Shall I go to class today or do whatever I want?” is not an uncommon conundrum when there is little consequence to others. Working at surf camp is the total opposite. If you decide to sleep in or forego your commitments for the day, that impacts an entire community, not just yourself. I often ponder how we can help our staff continue to thrive during the school year as much as they do in the summer months. We’ve come up with some good ideas. Yet I wonder if their time at camp is meant to be a taste of what to seek and build with their adult lives. At surf camp, the most valuable commodity is trust and trustworthiness. It doesn’t matter your upbringing, social status, or education… it’s all about your willingness to trust others and become trustworthy to them. The building blocks for cultivating this trust is consistency, hard work, and service. The main benefits are in the unseen, but everyone knows they’re building something that will last. They are slowly healing in body and spirit. They are building lifelong connections and friendships. They are connecting with God through all of it and finding new depths of joy. They are given a purpose and entrusted with much. It matters that they wake up every morning ready to serve, because others depend on them to do just that. They’re patient with each other’s weaknesses and help each other to become strong over time. Our little camp has become a farm, a tiny, humble, mostly invisible kingdom where God is on the move. If heaven is a redeemed and fruitful farm, it is a slice of heaven.

So…find your farm. Cultivate the land you’ve been given. You may not have to search very far to find it. But then again, it might take a little time to appreciate all it has to offer. Usually, it starts with taking some responsibility for yourself where you are. Then just look around, and see where God has planted you. That’s your farm: your family, your community, your church, the poor on your streets, your neighbors. When we spend our lives in pursuit of the endless “more,” we may often get tricked. Tricked by an unforgiving machine that promises to give what can only be found in the dirt that is already underneath our fingernails. Down on the ground, living lives of surrender to God and others, we work toward becoming dependable, trustworthy people. We sing to a different tune. A tune of TRUST which sounds like JOY. Trust that there IS a bigger world and a deeper purpose all around. The kingdom of God is at hand.

Lord give us eyes to see the purposes You have entrusted us with. May we not miss it or go astray with our eyes on what is shiny or comfortable. May we fix our eyes on You, Jesus, the Author and Protector of our faith and lives. Amen.

“Do you not say, ‘There are yet four months, and then comes the harvest’? Listen! I say to you, lift up your eyes and look at the fields, for they are already white for harvest.” - John 4:35