“A good toiling is what I need.”
My ancestors' Mennonite blood was simmering, and, like the Mongols of old who felt compelled to plunder and raze from their perch atop swift horses, I too was feeling compelled to descend with all the wrath and fury of a pacifist-farmer on the square of dirt behind my house. My genes were demanding in chorus from their tiny Nuclear Parliaments- Must! Garden!
You see, I was having an extremely “Levin” or “Constantine Dmitrich” moment. After seeing farmers working every day on their plots as I went and came from school, I needed to get a tool in my hands and do something tactile. Far from a matter of survival (no matter what you see in those awful commercials, food is abundant in this country) planting then pulling food from the ground just seemed right.
Any first step for the novice agriculturist? Lacking The Home Depot, let’s go to The Blacksmith.
I didn’t do anything nearly so epic as give my new ho a name, but I tried a few handles till I found a good fit, then sat and watched as Ibrahim smacked, heated, plied, bent, and beat the head nito the handle. I left boasting a smirking swagger and an embarrassingly clean tool.
Fast forward forty-eight hours and one seed buying trip to ROkupr, you’ll find me thoroughly cured of my need to toil. Less concerned with making mounds and straight rows, I’m more concerned about a sore back and wondering what the heck I’m going to do in a few months when fifty stalks offer me one hundred ears of corn. Maybe make an extremely linear corn maze for the neighborhood kids…
Mennonite ancestors- appeased.
Anyway, besides mucking around and throwing seeds over my shoulder, I’ve been placed in a frightening situation as of late- summer vacation. It’s as if all the rush-hour traffic that made you buy those books on tape has disappeared- completely. All the lines at Sam’s club keeping you from getting home to dinner have evaporated- entirely. All those electric harbingers of busywork and meetings laying siege to your inbox have seemingly deleted themselves from existence. No voicemails to answer, no projects t complete, no deadlines to beat by a day… sudden freefall. Besides the making and subsequent devouring of my lunch’s vivacious cucumber salad, my obligation meter for the day is laying down dead on zero. September 10th is the next time the seal on my school will be broken, and that leaves me feeling about as important and needed as a river steamboat captain in Indianapolis.
Far from being frustrating, though, after recovering from the initial stomach-lurch of obligation freefall, I’ve charged myself with a new set of chores. Learn another language, read more, learn how to throw a clay pot, write a grant, make home improvements, cook edible things, train for a marathon, help with community projects, and do whatever else- all outside the borders of alarm clocks and pressure.
Sound like a workload you’d be interested in? Well, https://www.peacecorps.gov/apply/now/index.cfm?clearform=1 I'll bet you won't though.
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