Harvesting

I've been working at Arethusa Farm since classes ended. I'll only be there for a couple more weeks (because of new Job!), but my time there has been.... does revelatory sound too dramatic? I have always loved sharp contrasts, and the jarring effect of little transition time between extremes. So I went directly from sitting in the office typing away at my metastasizing thesis to kneeling in the dirt harvesting spinach. Physical, emotional, and spiritual whiplash ensued. My body ached all over. I couldn't get the dirt out of the cracks in my index fingers. I didn't have a manic urge to exercise after work. And I felt content. There is something fulfilling about working with the earth. It must be instinctual. Or at least stored somewhere in the collective unconscious. Weeding and harvesting food will likely rank as the most important job I've ever done. There is no way you can feel existential angst while harvesting the food your neighbors will cook for dinner. You have a definite, important place in the world; your work is essential. Now I understand the draw; I understand why farmers go on, even when the rain doesn't come or the land floods, the mosquitoes swarm, or their profits are negligible. It is the most essential work, and it isn't easy. I will never balk at paying five dollars a pound for spinach again. It's funny: I have always been aware of the value of local, organic food, but I have always begrudged the final price tag. Now that I have a physical connection to the process, now that I have personally crawled through rows of greens picking out weeds, I will gladly cough up the cash--whatever the cost. It's just plain worth it.