The Music of Farming

I believe in a natural rhythm of things. Rhythm of life, weather, work, natural systems, farm ecosystems, and relationships to name a few, like the music of life. I often struggle to see or feel the music, getting caught up in what I’m doing. I tune out the background noise like the car radio when you’re lost and trying to get directions. 

When the rhythm shifts, that is where my attention finds the music. My metaphor is not perfect because as I come back to the music of life there is a subtle sensation like turning to swim down river. As if resisting, or tuning out the music is like swimming upstream. 

Last week I spent a day in bed sick from the smoke and perhaps other compounding factors. The ground was dry and the grass was complaining that more rainfall was needed.

This week Racey caught whatever I had and fevers, body aches and sinus congestion kept her in bed for a couple of days. The rain prayers from our pastures have been well received and we’ve had rain almost every day. I realize how dry it was when an inch of rain almost every day has not saturated our fields. And I feel how much I count on Racey’s support when she is sick and needs mine. 

Lewis and Lovett enjoyed puddle jumping as I worked on the last chicken coop. Tully, John and I tried in vain for a few days to work around the puddles, until finally we took a cue from the kids and just worked in the puddles.

As I approach the finish line of our chicken, brooder and field coop/MRC project and the rhythm begins to shift, I am left feeling that there is some wisdom in the rhythm. I’ll just have to keep listening to hear it.

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A personal story for fathers day.

I play music in a local band. We have a seasonal calendar and tend to have very few gigs during the winter months and then a full summer and fall. So as spring comes to an end we try to find time to play together to get some practice in before our summer gigs start.

This Friday was one such day, the band had planned to meet at a local spot to play and practice for the evening. With Racey sick, and the last MRC still unfinished I was feeling pressure and fatigue. I told the guys that I couldn’t make it to practice.

Their response was: that’s cool if you think you can’t make it, but remember you NEED this…

I grew up listening to my dad play music and my brother practice the piano. My dad would often offer to do the dishes for us if we practiced our instruments, Dakin on piano and me the guitar. Now it seems that I need the music to get out of washing the dishes and to find my rhythm.

Agreeing to meet the guys to play music at 8 pm, I put the kids to bed and fell asleep singing bedtime songs. I awoke to the dim light of 9 pm in June here in the Adirondacks. Instead of the usual panic at being late, I felt clarity. It was time to play.

I wiped the sleep from my eyes, grabbed my guitar and amp and headed down the road to play some music. 

A few hours later and I crawled into bed, I thought of my dad. I don’t know if I would have practiced the guitar without the carrot of escaping dishwashing, without the songs at bedtime, without those old tapes of my dad’s band filling two brothers’ heads with wild visions of bluegrass band stardom of our dad.

Thank you for your music dad, I’m learning to hear it.

Happy Fathers day.