走，去做個(gè)農(nóng)民

你也許會(huì)問(wèn)我為什么做農(nóng)民？我有很多答案等著你。但最真實(shí)的原因也是最難以啟齒的，因?yàn)槲沂裁炊疾辉谛小２贿^(guò)，棲息在東山農(nóng)場(chǎng)安靜的一隅，日出而作，日落而息，我在耕種中收獲了意外的自信和欣喜。也許你還在繁華的城市中疲于奔波，也許你厭倦了現(xiàn)在喧囂的生活，也許你像我一樣，覺(jué)得自己什么都不在行，那么不妨換個(gè)方式過(guò)日子——去做個(gè)農(nóng)民吧。

Sometimes people ask me why I farm. I tell them different things. To some I say that， biologically， we are meant to be farmers. “We’ve been farming for thousands of years. Why stop now?” I say.

To others (seeing an opportunity to shorten or end the conversation as quickly as possible)， I say that I farm because I like good food. “Can’t argue with that1)，” they say， thankfully.

To a third group of people， usually those most interested in farming， I explain that when I was younger I made a list of jobs I could imagine myself enjoying. I tell them the list included “small-scale organic vegetable farmer” and that I somehow fell into it. I add some esoteric2)， overly idiosyncratic3) items to my fictional list of self-actualizing professions in order to make them laugh or to distract them. I say that besides farmer， on my list were rapper， astronaut， lonely graduate student， writer， playwright， lonely history professor， and lonely Civil War reenactor4). I explain this maniacally5)， with eyes wide， until whoever asked the question starts talking about himself or loses interest.

To the fourth group—those with whom I’m most honest—I shrug and sadly mumble something about not knowing what else to do. “I could probably be a good janitor6)， maybe，” I say， almost inaudibly7)， “but I don’t know what else I’d be doing. I’m not really good at anything.”

I grew up in somewhat urban New Jersey， about 20 miles outside of Manhattan， and didn’t have a lot of interaction with nature. My dad kept a small vegetable garden in my aunt’s backyard until I was nine or 10 and then he stopped. I remember helping him in the garden a few times and liking it.

I ate a lot of processed food. I liked Toaster Strudels and Pop-Tarts. I liked bread. I put ketchup8) on most things. Most of the time I felt really awful. I wondered why my stomach hurt so much. In high school I went to a digestive specialist， who gave me a cup of high-fructose9) corn syrup10) to drink. I got sick almost immediately. He told me I had an HFCS allergy11) and “probably irritable12) bowel syndrome or Crohn’s disease13)” or something. It seemed that most of the food I was encouraged to eat was poison to my body. I was frustrated by my stomach and， though I didn’t realize it then， by the food system I was trapped in.

Being sick showed me that there’s a lot wrong with the way things are set up and maybe， I thought， if we do things differently， there’s a chance we could get it right. I discovered subculture14). I learned that there are alternative ways to eat， which， it turns out， is how most people in history have eaten. Sometimes I wished I’d been born 100 years earlier.

After college， I left New Jersey to become a farmer. Through WWOOF15) (Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms)， I discovered a farm about six hours northwest in the Finger Lakes region of New York. The farm， where I still live and work， is called East Hill Farm. It’s a project of the Rochester Folk Art Guild， an intentional community16) of craftspeople and farmers who have lived together in Middlesex， New York， since 1967.

So， I made the odd， difficult transition from a life rooted in urban culture in New Jersey to a rural， agricultural lifestyle in an intentional community. It’s a transition that I’m still trying to figure out17). I’ve learned more practical skills than I ever thought I would: bread baking， logging， vegetable and fruit production， woodworking， operating a tractor， canning and food preservation， beekeeping， raising and slaughtering18) pigs， raising and slaughtering chickens. I’ve learned how to live by myself in a one-room， “off-the-grid19)” shed through the winter. I’ve experienced love and heartbreak and made great friends. I’ve been more confused than ever before. I’ve discovered that I have much to learn about human interaction and relationships.

I’m now on the verge of my third season of farming. It’s the best job I’ve ever had， though also one of the most puzzling. Sometimes farming feels simple—like the crops grow themselves， and it’s almost a gift that this work exists for us. I’ve thinned beets20) while lying on my side in beautiful June weather and thought， “Farming can be lazy and relaxing， I guess.” Other times， farming seems impossible. It feels like there is so much that has to go right—too much—for it ever to work. But despite my inexperience and lack of knowledge and small stature and self-deprecation， so far I’ve somehow made it work.

If you sometimes feel that you’re not good at anything， consider becoming a farmer. You’ll discover that you’re actually good at many things. You’ll learn many skills that make you feel fulfilled and proud of yourself and then you’ll realize that these are all the skills that are being forgotten.

Know， also， that farming is tough. Some days， maybe most days， you’ll feel overwhelmed21). When your crop of onions is failing and your tomatoes have blight22) and the weed pressure on your winter squash23) is mounting and you can’t stand the people you work with (or， worse， the people you work with can’t stand you) and your livelihood depends on this food， you’ll feel overwhelmed and even afraid. But you’ll also feel a fullness. Your life will feel different from how it would if you were a young person living in a city， working in an office， going to bars and restaurants. You’ll know what quiet is and you’ll be able to go outside at night and see darkness. Your body， at first weak from the winter or the suburbs， will reject your work. Then， after struggling， it will embrace it. You’ll eat good food. Eventually， you’ll ask: “How do I live well?” And we need you to answer that question. We desperately need you to.

人們有時(shí)問(wèn)我為什么種地。對(duì)不同的人，我有不同的說(shuō)法。對(duì)有些人我會(huì)說(shuō)，從生物學(xué)的角度來(lái)說(shuō)，我們天生就是農(nóng)民。“幾千年來(lái)，我們一直在種地，為什么現(xiàn)在不呢？”我說(shuō)。

對(duì)另外一些人(當(dāng)我看到盡快縮短或結(jié)束對(duì)話的機(jī)會(huì))，我說(shuō)種地是因?yàn)槲蚁矚g優(yōu)質(zhì)的食物。“聽(tīng)起來(lái)是個(gè)好主意。”他們說(shuō)。謝天謝地，談話就此打住。

對(duì)第三類人——通常是那些對(duì)耕種特別感興趣的人，我會(huì)說(shuō)，我小時(shí)候曾列過(guò)一張清單，上面是我憑想象覺(jué)得自己會(huì)喜歡做的工作。我告訴他們，清單中有一項(xiàng)就是“小型有機(jī)蔬菜農(nóng)場(chǎng)主”，而且說(shuō)不上為什么，我就愛(ài)上了這個(gè)。此外，為了博他們一笑或分散他們的注意力，我還在這張?zhí)摌?gòu)的實(shí)現(xiàn)自我的職業(yè)清單中加了一些非常小眾和極其怪異的工作。我說(shuō)，除了做農(nóng)場(chǎng)主外，我還想做說(shuō)唱歌手、宇航員、孤獨(dú)的研究生、作家、編劇、孤獨(dú)的歷史學(xué)教授、孤獨(dú)的內(nèi)戰(zhàn)重演愛(ài)好者。一說(shuō)起這些來(lái)，我就激情四溢、神采飛揚(yáng)，一直說(shuō)到問(wèn)問(wèn)題的人開(kāi)始談?wù)撟约海蛘邔?duì)我所說(shuō)的失去興趣為止。……