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my farm is in pennsylvania. an hour and a half from brooklyn. like you, i grew up in the suburbs. but coming from meager roots doesn't mean you can't accomplish great things. suburbanity killed me. the city awoke me. the country has instilled peace. correct. you don't learn to farm in the mall. i spent happy college summers with dirt below nails and between toes, on farms. it was - and is - the happiest i have ever been. i left the city when i threw Success (conceptual) to the dogs and realized i wanted to spend time talking to myself instead of others.
there are some days i don't know what to do. but i have learned to sit still. these years feel like an endless meditation that is fruiting slowly. i love being able to provide for myself. your question mark is worth answering. there is a simple beauty in that phrase: sustaining yourself off the land. it is very thoreau, but there is an irrefutable eloquence in the quiet grace of nature. plus, i have the long empty roads and the honda 360. the wooded hikes with my dog. lots of steamed kale. hours of physical labor. good things, all.
how do i want to live? simply. as a steward. with love. companionship. good health. it is the most important question to ask and often the hardest to answer. often i still feel like a caveman scratching in the dirt with a stick, trying so hard to put the words and intentions inside together into tangible symbols.
but i never stop scratching.
- anonymous commenter on "BLAHG: the passion of the sandwich," christina mazzalupo january 21, 2005
posted January 26, 2005 in print. 2003