A little on the ethics of gardening

We're just relaxing today after one hell of a Saturday. We had a huge plant sale yesterday down in Waynesville. The day started at around 3:30 a.m., and, aside from the car ride there, I didn't sit down again until around 5 p.m.; then my head didn't hit the pillow until around 11 or 12 last night. Yeah, it was busy. We sold lots of beautiful plants though, which will find cozy homes in the gardens of lots of folks. We hear from the media and see firsthand that gardening is on the increase this year. Which is great.

There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace.

That quote is from Aldo Leopold, one of the great forefathers of environmental ethics and ecology. A Sand County Almanac is his masterwork, wherein he philosphically and beautifully documents a year of living on a small farm he reclaimed in south-central Wisconsin. Key to Leopold's work is his Land Ethic, which, in a nutshell, says humans need to face the undeniable fact that we are part of the natural world, not separate from it and, therefore, "A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability, and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise."

The book was written in the 40s. Leopold was worried then about Americans' tendency to focus so much on being "productive," rule-following, patriotic citizen-consumers, leaving the bulk of important decisions to "others," notably the government. In other words, Leopold felt that without direct, individual obligation--an ethical relationship--to the preservation of the land and everything on it, we could lose all that sustained our lives and made them worth living. An obligation without personal commitment and conscience is often an unfulfilled obligation.

Could it be that 60 years after A Sand County Almanac was first published folks might be embracing the land ethic?

Yesterday I sold plants to people who have never gardened before. And I hope I sold them good, strong plants and gave them some useful tips. Because it might be that their livelihood--or at least their comfort--depends on our plants providing their family with some sustenance. Some people spent $50 on little vegetable and herb plants. That's 20+ plants. For their home garden. All these folks--and apparently they're out in record numbers all across the country--have decided to take a little bit more responsibility for their own existence, closing the door just a bit on the destruction caused by mechanized petrochemical agribusiness and government subsidies. They know (or will see soon) that viability springs from the soil, from other plants, from animals, from the sun, and from other people.

I don't know if people are doing this out of necessity, if they're being pragmatic, or if it's the start of a new era in this country. We'll see. But no matter the motivation, this year's gardeners/farmers (the two words can be interchanged in my opinion) will gain or solidify valuable skills for the necessity of the near future. 'Cause I don't think it will be long before people need to grow at least some of their own food. Same as it almost ever was.

From The French Broad, by Wilma Dykeman:

It would be difficult to find a dozen people who have a family history in the French Broad country who don't count at least one farmer, and more likely several, among their ancestors. Even professional men by vocation were also farmers by necessity until recently, and savings were often deposited in lands rather than in banks.
[...]
In the rugged Tennessee county of Sevier, bordered by the Smoky Mountains and sliced by the Little Pigeon River, there were 1,071 heads of families listed in a census of 1850. Of these, all but 89 were designated farmers, with the exception of one or two candid souls who admittedly "did nothing." Of this eight percent of nonfarmers, blacksmiths (14), millers (11), and Baptist minsters (9) led the list. Half-a-dozen carpenters and wagon makers, five merchants, three each of physicians, tanners, shoemakers and horse traders, a brace of lawyers, coopers, Methodist ministers, hammermen and saddlers, and a single hatter, miner, wheelwright, navigator and cabinetmaker just about complete a fairly clear picture of the pre-Civil War life of that and many a neighboring county.

And I'd venture to guess it was like that in most of America a century-and-a-half ago. When I read those numbers, I was shocked, and proud of our ancestors; almost everyone was a small farmer, and many non-farmers provided people with the products and services they required to live a decent life. It's been like this on most of the planet for most of human history. People knew what it meant to work and survive. Most everyone possessed skills that mattered. And, in many cases, that direct, knowing dependence on the biotic community for one's livelihood automatically led to an ethical obligation to care for the land. That obligation slowly eroded; but maybe we've reached the valley.

Mainstream media and politicians at the federal level will probably not admit it until the very end, but the American lifestyle haphazardly erected during the past century or so is just about over. I don't know if I'd go as far as Jim Kunstler, who says that the demise of our deeply embedded irresponsible stuff-based culture will lead to a "national psychotic breakdown" or that "the current mood of public paralysis will dissolve in a blur of blood and spittle sometime between Memorial Day and July Fourth," but I like the way he tries to lay it all out bare on the floor. Sometime in the near future, life in America is gonna be very different. People are gonna have to relearn nearly lost skills. Thankfully some folks have preserved old knowledge and have worked to adapt them into usable, modern, ethically based skills.

Gardening is the best first step in our recovery--a real stimulus. I admire all those folks who came out yesterday to start their gardens for the season.

Oh, where have the months gone?

I suppose an update is in order. It's been a busy couple months, and, as a result, I've neglected my blog. Since August I've spent much time planning last-minute details for my wedding, getting married, planning and taking the two-week honeymoon, readjusting (barely) to "normal" life, working 55-plus hours a week at the dairy farm--in addition to all the other little things that pop up. Needless to say, downtime is rare these days; today is an odd day where I have found the opportunity to post.

But don't you worry, any of you three out there who might still be checking out this blog every once in a while, for I hope to be taking shorter hiatuses between posts. Really, I mean it this time. Really. Well, as long as I can stay awake past 9 p.m., which has been a struggle lately.

Time has flown. One month ago we were on the road, probably in Charleston, WV, at the conclusion of our honeymoon. It seems so long ago, but not really. We did a Southern road trip of sorts, starting in New Orleans, winding through Savannah and Charleston, SC, and ending in the mountains of NC, VA and WV. I wish I had a laptop so that I could've blogged on the road.

The whole trip was great, but I can't get over those mountains. We camped in Cataloochee in the Smokies (our second visit to the great national park--the first coming a few years back), where we saw the reintroduced elk herd up close and wandered the trails where several thousand people made their homes before the park became a park. Some say Cataloochee is NC's counterpart to Cades Cove, but less crowded and (so the logic goes) more enjoyable. Well, it was substantially less crowded than Cades Cove, utterly beautiful, and filled with intriguing historical remnants, but lacked the sheer, divine power of the Cades Cove landscape. There's a reason Cades Cove is the most visited location in the the most visited national park. That said, Cataloochee was amazing in its own right, and I wish I got to spend more time exploring it.

We also rented a renovated farmhouse near Waynesville, NC that had spectacular mountain views and modern indulgences (like a hot tub on the porch). Loved the view, loved the house, loved Waynesville. But it didn't matter where I was or what I was doing: I just love the mountains, and I can't really put it into words.

All in all, we spent about three days in western North Carolina, partly because we are thinking of relocating to the mountains in the near future. We've spent time on the Tennessee side of the Smokies, which was when we fell in love with the Appalachians, as well as the foothills of Kentucky, and now we've explored parts of NC, West Virginia and southwestern Virginia. Floyd, VA was a very cool little progressive mountain town, population somewheres around 435 (one of the best small towns to raise a family in America, some publication said recently), SW Virginia along the Blue Ridge Parkway was filled with mountain homeyness and a deep, inspiring tradition of American roots music, and everywhere we went in NC was great. West Virginia, while filled with astounding scenery and great nature opportunities, didn't really measure up, though we didn't spend enough time there to really get a feel for it. Let's just say that the state capitol, Charleston, seemed about as lame as cities come. But then again, I'm not a big fan of big cities anyway.

Anyway, the rural and small city areas surrounding Asheville, NC seem like a great place to live (mountain country living and modern, progressive, urban benefits in one area). After descending back to the flatlands I couldn't let go of the feelings I had while being in the mountains--again. Somehow, some undefinable part of me is truly at home in the highlands. When I'm not there I yearn to be there; when I'm there I'm exceedingly inspired.

And sometimes, lately, I seem to lack inspiration. Often, I think I'm just biding my time until I can get home. Then again, sometimes I think I have issues living in the moment and embracing the gifts in front of me, which is probably true. But the awe and excitement I feel when I get to look up and see mountains all around me is impossible to write off as some passing fancy or superficial attraction that will fade with time.

Ever since I left my original home in Illinois, I've thought of myself as a nomad. Place is utterly important to me, hence the current focus of this blog. And central Wisconsin is great and all, but I've always known it would be a temporary place for me. But I'm tired of temporary after all these years, and I want to find a homeplace.

The southeastern mountains are calling me home. The questions is, When can we feasibly make the journey? We need to answer that question very soon.

In the meantime, as I get the opportunity, I plan on changing the focus of this blog because I just don't have the time or passion to do justice to central Wisconsin as a place. Who knows where I'll go with this, but I hope to be able to write something of value, even if it's just random ramblings.