From: epona (acolyta@napc.com)
Date: 10/30/02-07:52:38 AM Z
I agree. I am currently reading an excellent book on the subject I
recommend to anyone, even if you do not plan to farm. It's "The Contrary
Farmer" by Gene Logsdon. I am in the midst of moving from Boston to rural
New Hampshire, in the hopes of someday becoming a smale-scale organic
farmer, with a goal for long-term sustainability and self-sufficiency. The
book discusses how industrial agribusiness has made the family farm almost
extinct, but goes on to describe how with some old-time cleverness and
perseverance it's possible to still make a living off of even a couple of
acres. There's a half-acre organic farm in Berkeley, CA that grosses
$300,000 per year. If I may be so bold as to waste some more bandwidth
with the subject of farming, here's a poem from the inside of the book that
resonated strongly with me:
The Contrariness of the Mad Farmer
I am done with apologies. If contrariness is my
inheritance and destiny, so be it. If it is my mission
to go in at exits and come out at entrances, so be it.
I have planted by the stars in defiance of the experts,
and tilled somewhat by incantation and by singing,
and reaped, as I knew, by luck and Heaven's favor,
in spite of the best advice. If I have been caught
so often laughing at funerals, that was because
I knew the dead were already slipping away,
preparing for a comeback, and can I help it?
And if at weddings I have gritted and gnashed
my teeth, it was because I knew where the bridegroom
had sunk his manhood, and knew it would not
be resurrected by a piece of cake. "Dance" they told me
and I stood still, and while they stood
quiet in line at the gate of the Kingdom, I danced.
"Pray" they said, and I laughed, covering myself
in the earth's brightnesses, and then stole off gray
into the midst of a revel, and prayed like an orphan.
When they said "I know that my Redeemer liveth,"
I told them "He's dead." And when they told me
"God is dead," I answered "He goes fishing every day
in the Kentucky River. I see Him often."
When they asked me would I like to contribute
I said no, and when they had collected
more than they needed, I gave them as much as I had.
When they asked me to join them I wouldn't
and then went off by myself and did more
than they would have asked. "Well, then" they said
"go and organize the International Brotherhood
of Contraries," I said "Did you finish killing
everybody who was against peace?" So be it.
Going against men, I have heard at times a deep harmony
thrumming in the mixture, and when they ask me what
I say I don't know. It is not the only or the easiest
way to come to the truth. It is one way.
Wendell Berry
from Farming: A Hand Book
Cheers,
Christine
"Robkin, Eugene" wrote:
> This way off topic but the "no one" in the earlier post is incorrect. I
> live in semi-rural Wisconsin and there are many people making it on
> small farms as their only income. As always the trick lies in the
> nature of the brain power you bring to the project as well as some luck.
>
> The theme of "making a living" has as many variations for farming as it
> does for photography.
>
> Gene Robkin
>
> -----Original Message-----
>
> From: Ender100@aol.com [mailto:Ender100@aol.com]
> Sent: Monday, October 28, 2002 9:41 PM
> To: alt-photo-process-l@sask.usask.ca
> Subject: Re: films for scanning
>
> In the US, it is partially because no one can make a living off of the
> small
> family farm anymore... that loaf of bread that costs you dearly....
> maybe
> about 5 cents goes to the farmer. You can't even own farmland as an
> investment anymore.
-- ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You can't be a real country unless you have a beer and an airline. It helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a beer. --Frank Zappa
This archive was generated by hypermail 2.1.5 : 11/14/02-02:40:27 PM Z CST