by Jonathan McRay
Delivered on 7/22/18
-Moment of silence to honor the land, the indigenous people, and those who have been enslaved here
My mother’s father grew up in a farming family. Not one that farmed for much money, but one that raised hogs and grew gardens on rented land. After my grandfather grew up, his parents bought land and built their house with their hands. Just before I was born, my great-grandfather was crushed by his tractor on a steep hillside. Years later my great-grandmother sold the farm to divide the inheritance money between her two children. I don’t think my granddad ever fully recovered from losing his dream of farming that land. But a decade ago he and my grandmother bought land, where he grew a large garden in the late evenings after work and on the weekends. Earlier this summer, they finally moved out there.
My grandfather doesn’t speak much, mostly humming and rubbing his hands together, but when asked why he plants a garden every year despite limited time and old age, he replied, “I try to stop, but every spring the soil sings to me.â€
I have several bookshelves devoted to an agricultural library and none of those books say why they do what they do with half of my grandfather’s eloquence. Few of these authors introduce their practical guides with an emotional invitation to see what they love about their land. A language of sustainable agriculture must be informed by emotion, a feeling in the body as much as, if not more than, philosophical or scientific thoughts. I want a vision of agriculture that, like my grandfather, trusts that the soil does indeed sing in the spring.
I want this because the most innovative techniques of “carbon farming†or “regenerative agriculture,†or for that matter restorative justice, won’t save us if we’re not cultivating reverence for the world. They won’t save us because they won’t last without reverent affection that supports them beyond burnout. I didn’t grow up farming, so I’ve needed handbooks and workshops about practices for sustaining our soil, but how about practices for sustaining these practices? What about ongoing steps for cultivating affection?
I suppose I’m trying to say that sustainable agriculture and culture can only be sustained by practices that might best be called spiritual. Now, in the past I’ve been pretty allergic to that word and the wispy ways I’ve seen it tossed around. But I’m not talking about otherworldly or unworldly beliefs. I’m describing a way of experiencing this world: the soils that grow our food, the water we drink, the harvests we eat, the relationships we depend on as gifts of life. We are called to care for these gifts. By spirit, I really mean what animates us, inspires us, keeps us going, like a deep breath or a cool wind. How do we sustain our spirit? I care about this spirit as a grower who plants trees and sows seeds, as a facilitator who tries to make the energy of conflict flow as easily as possible. [Read more…]