Farming

Farming takes time. Anything that you farm takes effort and affection, a relationship is needed.  The farmer, the plants, the soil, water, sun, all together in harmony.  Nature takes its course.  Similar is the woodworker. Time, the prerequisite to good work, is essential.  Slowly, with sword and fire, a cabinet or table takes form.  Intricate markings and patterns may or may not develop. Steps to soften the wood, bend it and learn from it, are taken.  Like the miner who looks in the river gravels for gold, many other elements begin to come to the surface. Some are toxic and dangerous, but if controlled can be used to make specialty items and products.  It is that art of master and material, the form and former.  

Parenting is similar here, homeschooling too.  It starts with desire, a need to find or make.  It grows into a passion, and with time is developed into a part of the maker.  I am a parent now. I am a woodworker, miner, farmer, and more.  My methods in each practice are similar, and with care and love in anyone or anything, I see the reward; the harvest of which is sweet and bountiful. 

Sunscreen, wet shorts, jars filled with dirty water, piles of toys and clothes, dirty blankets covered in foxtails and grass, ripped tent doors, broken cups, spilt milk, stuffed animals, grass clipping mounds in the yard, acorns, willow branch bracelets, sticks that are now swords, plastic rifles and broken bows, sleeping bags stuffed with clothing, small bags and purses with jewels and gems, coins in the washing machine, dirty baby fingernails, stale sippy cups with milk that has turned to yogurt, food crumbs in the seat belt and back seat, shredded books, maps and papers made into “paperwork”, toilet paper rolls that are made into horns, beetles, cattail fluff around the yard, goat heads and stickers in their feet, backpacks filled with everything, stinky bathrooms, mixed up clothes heaps with no place to go, birds nest, rats nest, bees nest, tadpoles, crickets, violins, guitars, dancing at night, loud movies when mom is away, vegetable gardens in mass, kissy face with the dogs, rocking with blankies, combing her hair, brushing his teeth, holding his hand, walking across the busy street all three in a line with each of them hanging onto us for safety; this is parenthood, this is being a Dad, Mom, Parent.  This kind of farming takes time.  This type of growing takes time.

So we mold the wood, work and burn the clay, smear and spread the paint.  You artists, you great thinkers that make the world filled with human art.  Create away, feel free to build the next empire of humanity.  We live to make more, to continue the cycle. We are not all fortunate, though. Not all have the chance to make what it is we desire, but we all have a role to play.  

I cannot use all of the woodworks, clay pots, products and such that I make.  No one can use all of what they make, farm, or beget. It is left to the world to use our pots and pans, our dishes, our cabinets and doors, our produce, our children, our life.  It just takes a little time, a little love, a little water, and a some nutrient. This is what it takes.