lessons from a farm

I met some cows today. They were really fricking cute. I don't think people know how cute cows are. They're like horses, only smaller and fuzzier and have cuter noses.

I also met some chickens, and a herding dog that barked at the chickens until they moved out of the road, out of harm's way. Apparently this herding technique works, even though the chickens are all pissy as they're obeying mr. shepherd dog.

Did I mention I was on a farm? I went to meet some delightful people who do biodynamic farming for a CSA up east of Loveland. They grow food all summer long, then can things and ferment things and put things in "clamps" which is a sort of natural outdoor refrigerator that keeps large amounts of produce fresh. At this point in the season they have only a small bit of onions and leeks and radishes, but they're preparing for the summer season of growing.

They also raise dairy cows (only seasonally, because when the green grass to feed the dairy cows dries up, the milk doesn't taste as good), and slaughter a few at the end. It was traumatic for me to stare at the big beautiful eyes of these little calves and know that someday they would be dinner. But I completely respect the fact that these farmers put everything they have into raising these little buggers, and give thanks for the life they give in the end. Really, it's the only way it should be.

The couple who run this farm literally live off of it. The woman told me that when they run out of the veggies they have in a few weeks, she'll go harvest dandelion greens and wild asparagus for supper. Of course they have their canned goods and their frozen meats, but for them, not having spinach in the fridge doesn't mean a trip to the grocery store. Can you imagine?

Toward the end of our talk, I went into their house alone hoping to use their restroom. I walked in and saw two toilets--one conventional, and one compost. There was a little sign next to it explaining how to do it (complete with a bucket of sawdust), but I just couldn't bring myself. So I held it. I'm such a wuss.

After two hours, part of me was ready to get out of the country, to get back to a place where I can have my spinach any time of the year. But on my drive home, I was uber-conscious of the semi trucks full of building equipment blazing past me on the highway. So many trucks ready to build so many more houses, destroying the prairie for ugly housing developments with ridiculous names like "Sweetgrass" and "Prairie View."

It feels like it's too late to go back to living like those folks do. Too late for me I guess, because I really enjoy spinach in January.