On more than a few occasions, a customer has asked me about how some disastrous situation was being dealt with on the farm. That situation could be a lack of rain, too much rain or an invasion of hungry indigenous mammals intent on devouring the produce in the fields. There are many other situations, to be sure, but in my typical fashion, I explain far too honestly how much effort on my part had been exerted to remedy those ills. And, on many of those occasions, the customer listened in a very concerned manner, then, a smile appeared on their face followed by a knowing nod. “Ah, it’s a labor of love…”
On each of the times that my ears were assaulted by those words, inwardly I cringed, but kept my anguish hidden over the constant struggles of the farm. In order to explain my inner tension over such a synopsis, I must insist, and many who know me well can easily back this statement, in no way do I LOVE labor. In fact, my first inclination is towards that of lassitude. However, when something is viewed as problematic, or even broken, I am instilled with a sense of compulsion to do what I can to fix it. So, in order to proceed, it is not so much a “labor of love” that consumes all the hours of a day for me, but a “labor of necessity”. But with that last statement, there appears to be more explanation needed.
What is labor? A rather succinct definition would be “physical work”. But what is work? As many bumper stickers and baseball caps have suggested, work is for someone who does not know how to hunt, or fish, or, to take it a step further, sit on the couch and watch TV all day. Perhaps that explains who is exempt from work, but from my own perspective, those who are impelled to work, as in my own case, are often under the unseen forceful hand of a mortgage company, for example. This does not fully define the situation, or so it would seem, due to an example from a few years back. At a seminar in Hagerstown, a man who has provided many well written texts on how to farm organically, gave the main speech at the gathering. The man’s name is Eliot Coleman, and his books have acted as priceless assistance in my organic farming endeavors. During his speech, Mr. Coleman stated that work was doing something you did not want to do. He continued to say that he had never worked a day in his life. I will repeat that again, because it struck me like a sledgehammer upon my skull… HE HAD NEVER WORKED A DAY IN HIS LIFE! I remember very clearly thinking that all I had ever done was work, and… well, apparently, I was doing something completely wrong! While I might be doing what I want to do, it most certainly did come across as work, indeed very strenuous work!
Now that was many years ago, and yet, all I seem to do is work. It appears at this point I would be veering from the path of honesty to aver that my current labors are “what I want to do”. Allow me to explain this a little bit. For over ten years of my life, I worked for another, whether it was a company or sole proprietor. While my efforts persisted for over a decade, it was within the first year of employment that the realization struck that working for another was by no means the desired path. Shortly after the turn of the last millennia, the ties were cut with employers and the entire intention was to become self-sufficient. I simply could no longer deal with the mandates of another. And so, what did I do? I dove into the world of organic farming! Why, you may ask? There are a number of reasons, but let’s limit these to one and say… I don’t know. Perhaps it was the fact that I have always cringed at the notion of eating chemicals, which is ultimately how I view eating conventional produce, whether washed off, scrubbed, or not. Then, after my first experiences in growing, say, heirloom tomatoes, the flavor was what won me over, for nowhere else can such intense flavor in tomatoes be experienced. Of course, there is also that strange element, that after ten years or so working for the mandates of another within the chaotic whirlwind of modern society, the solitude of farming was definitely desirable.
So, at this point, it would appear that “labor of necessity” is for sustaining my wild living habits, which consist almost solely of working on the farm. There is a smidge more involved in the “labor of necessity” and that comes from experiencing produce farming first hand. I slowly grew aware of what was involved in produce farming, both conventional and organic. Once I realized what was at stake, and what flavorable produce was being sacrificed for convenience sake, I could not abandon the organic scene. Indeed, at least the next ten years were doomed to organic farming in order to provide those residents in Carroll County who desired such produce a source for those delectables. Thus, it was no longer merely a means of subsistence, but an attempt to fill an agricultural void. “Labor of necessity” now holds two meanings.
Nonetheless, to me, “work” and “labor” still mean the same thing. It is an extremely tiresome, unending, requirement of energy expenditure that is never sated. While it would seem almost idyllic to say that all of the constant effort involved in organic farming is that of a “labor of love”, I cannot acknowledge that in my own situation as truth. In fact, if one could hear my rantings of frustration from day to day, such outbursts would certainly sound borne of hate. I will not deny that accusation. “Hate” may be a strong word, but so is “love”, and so, in parting, if you should ever stop by to witness the farm, my unending ordeal, know that what you witness is not the result of a “labor of love”, but more accurately, a “labor of necessity”.