on farming, expectations vs. reality, and the beauty in thenot-so-mundane

I'll freely admit that when planning my Israel adventures, I completely romanticised the idea of working on a farm. I read too much. I kept thinking of that passage in Anna Karenina when Levin is ploughing the fields and, through the repetitive motion, reaches a state of meditative transcendence. I thought of the nature-driven poetry of Wendell Berry; of Steinbeckian narratives of redemption through hard work; I even thought of Walden Pond, for Christ's sake.

In reality, there's nothing romantic about being covered in hay and smelling like goat shit for the better part of every day. Farm work is unforgiving; jobs are either done right or wrong, and if something is done wrong, it creates twice the work to be done. The days are long and contain multitudes. A farm is its own microcosm, and life outside of it begins to feel distant. And nettles hurt. A lot. 

But in the end, it also turns out that the sun-dappled, big-picture vision that I anticipated wasn't really the point. I had expected my life to be a light leak-filled Super 8 film, but really, the vibrant, messy, exhausting existence that it turned out to be was something I'll treasure infinitely more. 

My old art teacher used to groan whenever a student wanted to paint a sunrise or sunset. Overrated and overdone, she would say. It's boring. I've always agreed. I'm a fan of paying attention to the small moments, the kind that get lost in your memory if you're not careful, resurfacing only much later in bouts of déjà vu, if ever. 

So here's to those small moments. Here's to a cup of mint tea on the veranda at 7 in the morning. The solitude of walking through the hills up in the cow pasture. Getting jumped on by baby goats. A beautiful, half-wild horse trotting through tall grass. Breaking the pre-dinner moment of silent reflection with a "L'chaim!" and a sip of wine. Biting into a just-picked carob pod. Listening to Daliah read Roald Dahl stories in Hebrew to her grandchildren. The silvery full moon peeking out from behind an olive tree. Getting into bed and falling asleep nearly immediately, tired to the core. Here's to living and working in one of the most gorgeous locales I've ever seen. 

It's not glamorous. It's not sepia-toned. But nestled into the jumble of Turkish rugs, lavender bushes, firewood, bales of hay, sore muscles, and dirty socks, Goats with the Wind farm possesses its own special brand of magic. And I feel very lucky to have gotten to share in it. 

I've said goodbye to the farm for now, but I'll be back for a bit next month before I leave Israel. I could see as soon as I arrived that Goats with the Wind has a magnetic pull on people, and I understand the magnetism now. 

אהבה

M

For more info: 

http://www.wwoof.il

http://www.goatswiththewind.com