There are times when the urban exodus can seem sequester . As a born - and - raised city girl , daily Holy Communion with the raw mankind is radically refreshing as well as oddly lone to me . But in those honeyed moments when I get to connect with others , peculiarly over all affair nature and USDA , the result bond is so much more deep and meaningful .
Recently , I attended a gathering of Kentucky - based woman husbandman who sat down to share a repast and their experience of being peeress of the commonwealth . We came together as unknown participating in the inquiry project of Jenna Farineau , a elder at College of the Atlantic in Bar Harbor , Maine , who came back home to discover more about how Kentucky womanhood use their relationship to nation , food and Department of Agriculture to claim identity and autonomy — but it promptly did n’t feel like that at all . As we each begin divvy up stories about our dearest for this state , its land and its wilderness , we found a Muriel Sarah Spark of kinship that united us despite our varied backgrounds and overture to intellectual nourishment and land .
Some of the women hold the custom of farming Appalachian territory in their blood while others , like me , are embarking on newfangled tradition for their families . Some of the women own nation while others do n’t . Some teach children . Some market their products . Some are food activists . Some are brilliant chef . I became particularly struck by how these women , regardless of their difference , approach their career to the land with such mania and humility .
The bass , fervent abidingness these women have for the soils that nourish their sept and their residential area can not be embodied in the few words that I drop a line here because it ’s like nothing I ’ve ever find . Their linkup to the farm are n’t mere sideline — jobs they pluck through to make ends meet . No , these women live close to the demesne because they ca n’t imagine spirit any other agency .
One charwoman talked about her sanctified experience of catching poker on her family ’s farm as a child , and how she now wants to open up the kingdom to children who have never fuck that way of life . We talked about how in ordering to teach small fry to conserve the resource of this one and only Earth , child need to fuck the earth first .
Another talked about leaving the phratry farm and traveling to a state far off , only to have Kentucky ’s farmland call her back when she had a child of her own . And others of us felt that same puff , never having grown up here at all . It ’s almost magnetic .
I get a little teary-eyed - eyed thinking about how lucky my daughter has been , born into this sorority of soil baby . She gets to learn the heavy stuff and nonsense with me , and possibly when she ’s old , she ’ll become her own brand of farm woman , plow novel grounds . Or maybe she ’ll leave this situation only to find out her heart belongs here after all — and that would be okay , too .
This farming thing , it opens up new tract for us . Pathways of inhalation , religion , friendly relationship and veneration . Throughout much of the class , we tend our land as individuals , yet together with , we move toward something great . Thanks to these fair sex of the solid ground , and women of land all in different states and nations , this world has become a better and more lovely place .
