The sun shone all weekend long, high and welcome and almost hot. It was tee shirt weather, or at least it was if you kept moving. So that’s what I did. We killed and processed a fat hog, split firewood, then gathered sap from the distant sugarbush, glad for the aid of gravity in carrying it down the old skid path a quarter-mile or more. Ten gallons of sap per haul, maybe a quart of finished syrup. Makes you look at pancakes in a whole new light. Eventually, we’ll have a rig nearer to the sugarbush. Eventually.
The mud is the worst anyone has seen in years; for a period at the end of last week, many of the back roads were essentially impassible. Having grown up in Vermont and navigated better than four decades of mud seasons, I consider myself something of an expert in the craft. Still, I managed to sink the Subaru to the floorboards, though at least I was within easy walking distance to home, and the situation was soon enough remedied via truck, chain, and the oversight of my offspring, who seem to have inherited my unflattering delight in the application of brute force remedies.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how fortunate I am to live where I do, that just down the road there is a farm where often I see horses pulling sawlogs from the surrounding forest, that twice each week my sons go to work on a small dairy farm, where they unroll a round bale for the milkers and feed flakes from squares to the heifers, that yesterday afternoon on a short drive I passed no fewer than four sugarhouses in full boil. A visitor last summer told us that the thing he liked most was the simple fact that everywhere he went, he found people outside, just doing things. “It’s not like that where I’m from,” he told me.
Don’t let me romanticize this place. There is hardship aplenty in these hills: Deep, seemingly intractable poverty, drug use and abuse, capricious weather, that damnable mud. Soon, the perennial scourge of spring, black flies. Furthermore, Vermont is not immune to external pressures, and economic transitions are being imposed. The opportunities to make a reasonable living working the land on a modest scale are becoming fewer and farther between. I know some who still do so, but the hours are mostly unreasonable and probably not sustainable into the latter seasons of their lives. Nor are they finding it easy to set aside the money they’ll need to survive when their bodies succumb.
Those who have a certain cleverness with technology are finding workarounds (I suppose this includes myself, though “cleverness” may be a bit of a reach), but I cannot help wondering if is it just to leverage the very tools that are helping displace the working landscape in our quest to preserve it. There is an excellent piece by Thomas Frank in the new Harper’s, titled Nor A Lender Be: Hilary Clinton, Liberal Virtue, and the Cult of the Microloan. I’m going a close with a pertinent excerpt, but to fully understand the context, and perhaps gain other significant insights, I highly encourage you to read the entire article.
… The so-called Twitter Revolution fit neatly into the beloved idea that new communications technologies – technologies invented or dominated by Americans, that is – militate by their very nature against dictatorships, a market-populist article of faith shared everywhere from Wall Street to Silicon Valley.
Then there was the economic side of the single, unified Internet, and it, too, was all about liberation. For the “people at the bottom of the world’s economic ladder,” Hilary Clinton averred on that day in 2010, the Internet was a savior. She knew of farmers in Kenya who were using “mobile banking technology,” and of “women entrepreneurs” somewhere else in Africa who were getting “microcredit loans,” and of a doctor who used a search engine to diagnose a disease. I guess she hadn’t heard about what these same technologies were doing to the livelihoods of journalists or musicians or taxi drivers in her own country, but I quibble; as long as this technology was free, anyone could see that it pushed in one direction only, and that was up.
8 thoughts on “In One Direction Only”
Like your fat hog, the future for us all seems inevitable, but until then, the mud is good, except when driving in it.
Steve moved a JetSled filled with ice fishing gear yesterday. It hadn’t been sitting there long, maybe three or for days. The ground was bare when he left the sled there by the barn. When he moved it he found a 9″ round hole in the ground. You can look in under the crust to see darkness. It feels solid on three sides but the fourth will give way soon. We have 3′ x 4′ x 18″ sink holes in the garden where the frost is coming out. Normally the soil heaves a little but in this weird winter of bears and chipmunks out of hibernation already, the soil is doing bizarre things we’ve never seen before. We’re staying off the back roads for a while so that we don’t have to call for help.
Don’t worry, you’ll be romanticizing come spring (baskets of mushrooms bind you to it, its contractual)…
Thomas Frank really gets to the meat of matters doesn’t he? I love technology, but not at the expense of losing human experience. Which we have done in many ways. A lot of what he talks about shows how much disconnect there really is though with those in high positions..
Small rant alert: Neither party gives two cents about the working class or working poor. This is not a big secret. What astonishes me though is how any politician is still able to sell the same old trope of with “hard work” you can maybe one day share the air of the coveted 1%. They leave out the details such as the capital folks had or inheritances and turn it all hokey Horatio Alger. On top of that, they make it sound that unless you want to be rich, every other “class” is worthless. And people buy into the idea. By the truckloads.
What is wrong with being middle class? Why is being educated considered elitist? Why shouldn’t the working poor make a living wage?When can we stop wasting money on the Drug War and choose a different strategy? When did people become so selfish and all about “me” instead of giving a damn about their fellow citizen?
The questions never end, but that is why I read here. So much food for thought. Thanks for alerting us to such an interesting article and keeping on keeping on.
Nice photo there. 🙂
I say, instead of all these Clinton Foundation events and tie and suit debates we just place all the candidates on the Hewitt farm for a few months of team building to haul some sap, do the haying and attend to hogs, it would be a Survivor take all, and even with all the Vermont mud, will be quite less mud slinging, the money saved will come close to pay off all microloan debts, maybe even a syrup rig built by Trump or Bernie for Ben…I don’t know, it’s a win-win.
Now there’s an idea! I think I would know who to vote for if they could all follow me and my family around for one day and (1) keep up and (2) get dirty and not complain and (3) smile when shoveling copious amounts of animal manure. Those should be at least some of the prerequisites for public office.:)
ncfarmchick, all that, and be dragged kicking and screaming into office. If you want it, you’re probably not qualified. :o)
I remember mud season in New Hampshire and Vermont, not all that fondly. I buried a Subaru 1978 vintage Subaru Outback wagon during mud season on the way home from a day of skiing at Killington in 1979.