ivana

So I live in Seattle. And I can’t tell you how often I hear people talk about how much they want to move to a farm.
I suspect few of these people have ever lived on a farm, and have all these romantic notions, which is fine…until they go on about raising children on a farm, and how nice that would be.

I wince when I hear this, and want to scream out: YOU FOOL! HOW CRUEL AND SELFISH OF YOU! But I don’t.
When you are an adult, you have options. When you are a child, you don’t. I can’t see why people think that raising a child in a depressing, vast, mind-numbing landscape of a relentless monoculture of crops, arguably a lonely, monastic experience, is so wonderful. One thing I did learn about living on a farm was how to entertain myself. But it was not worth the pain of learning.

18 years is a long time to be so confined, but adulthood has allowed me to be in my element, in the city. I hate to drive and I like being around a variety of strangers. I really like people. I do prefer them to farm animals and crops. But I still often get this disconnected feeling, like I am not fully socialized, particularly around my peers, and that comes from an isolated childhood that is what you necessarily get from being on a farm.

Think about these things before moving to a farm. Also understand that a farm is a helluva lotta work, and there are few professions as expensive and risky as farming. As a farmer, you are out of control—the weather, the markets, diseases, so many things control your destiny. For a “grounded” profession, it provides precious little security.

BEWARE.

...or visit. Sure, Iowa isn’t the biggest tourist destination, but last time I went back, I saw the Grotto of the Redemption in West Bend…a definite “must see” in Palo Alto county.

But if you grew up wanting an urban experience, you just won’t be happy. I hate to drive, I like being around a variety of strangers, and I hate those hot, humid days with all its mosquitoes. Mostly, I am depressed and scared by the vast, mind-numbing landscape of a relentless monoculture of corn and soybeans. Farm life was a lonely, monastic experience I may be all the better for, but it wasn’t that enjoyable.

We live totally different lives half a continent way, and I hadn’t spent that much time with him since he graduated high school in 1984.

When we found out that our uncle, the last of a generation, was depressed and on the verge of death, we knew we had to go see him. Him…and all those other people we know, who, over the years, have wound up in California, always begging us to visit. We turned it into this amazing road trip, reacquainting ourselves with all sorts of people from our past, including each other.

I’m just glad he didn’t listen to Rush Limbaugh while I was in the car.