Hey everyone,
I've been away from the farm for just shy of a month now, having been to LA and driven back across the country to Chicago and then New York in the time since I've left, yet my life at Pope Valley Fruits has never left my thoughts. When I drove Kai to the airport in Oakland and then drove down to LA to visit a friend, I was re-introduced to what it's like to live in civilization. It was pretty jarring and surreal. My best example is showering: when I took my first shower post-farm in LA I was scared half to death of all the water surging out of the showerhead. It seemed endless, and the way it was coming out reminded me that there is such a thing is extreme water pressure. It felt, in a word, decadent. I took my shower as quick as possible so as not to waste water. I'm glad to say I've kept the habit from my farm days.
The amazing thing about coming back to civilization is that many things become novelties since you've been gone. Things like beds and air conditioning (that sinful luxury). The downside is the knowledge that you have lived without these things for a period of time, and not just lived, but lived well. And the realization you get from that is how over-saturated and wasteful much of it seems. My time at the farm will definitely inform how I make my own home in the future.
I must say, despite how much I dreaded my domestic days and bemoaned my fate when they came, they ended up being some of the most valuable time I spent in Pope Valley. For one, I can now look at a stove without feeling like I'm looking at something strange, foreign, even hostile. And how I made Kai and Denise laugh, with my shudderingly naive questions about how to cook an egg and other basics! I should be ashamed, but really, I just chuckle when I think about how young I was then. So young, so inexperienced, so green. (I haven't changed much from that, but basically, I can now fry an egg.)
I think the thing I really loved about living in Pope Valley was the simplicity of it, how stripped down it was. When you weren't working, besides a trip to town/Turtle Rock (or the AARP-type place for some poker) your only options were to read, sleep, or swim, and perhaps play Quelf (how I miss it!) with everyone on a given night. I was never flooded with sensations of anything that wasn't natural—no ads, no flashing lights, no traffic, no horns, no anything except a million billion stars, the milky way, the back porch of the bungalow, and some good friends. Ah, and the heat, lest I forget. There is that. But I even miss the heat a little bit, honestly. It made cold water taste so good, and it made the rest at the end of the day feel deserved.
But that's just the down-time. The work itself, as I've written before, was so essential, and also pretty simple. (Note: I speak for myself here. That irrigation stuff that Nicolas and Denise handled seemed more complicated.) Dig, hoist, hose, stack, pour, scrape, smooth, mix, roll, pig-ring, pound, clip, clop, bippity-bop (not in that order.) All these daily menial projects went toward building something good, an organic fruit farm and a home for Nancy and Terry. Many required working as a team with another person or more, which is a surefire way to build friendships. I'm remembering John D. Rockefeller's quote, "A friendship founded on business is better than a business founded on friendship." Well, a friendship founded on digging is better than digging founded on...? Hm. I should work on that a bit more, but you get the idea. And when I did work alone, which was fairly often, I relished being able to concentrate so much on a basic activity, trying to bring to it an awareness and a thoughtfulness. This is probably the most important habit that I've kept. It's very easy to do things—like type a blog entry, or drive a car, or cut an apple, or ask for your change—without really thinking about them, and without really being present. The reason I always requested the grunt work was not because I wanted to let my mind wander, but rather because I wanted to anchor it to something simple and repetitive while I savored the present moment.
(Okay, let's be honest. I wanted to get buff.)
((Marginal success.))
Well. It's pretty simple. Pope Valley and the people who live or WWOOF there, I salute you, and I miss you. I cherished my time with you. I will be back one day.
Charlie
