Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Spaciousness and security

Saturday at the Minnesota Dairy Goat Association conference, I was listening to women who farm larger properties than I do and the beauty of spaciousness swept over me and I could for the first time understand their desire for it. 

As a suburbanite and then a city girl, I often felt vulnerable and exposed on the large open farm properties we visited while looking for our new home.  Not being able to see our neighbors in the summer felt isolating after the endless togetherness of the Cities and I took comfort last fall when the leaves fell and I could see neighbors' houses.  I felt less alone in the big world.

Sometimes I still find comfort in seeing their lights in the dark and I'm sure I'll look out over snow and be glad that help is a short walk away.

Yet, the pleasure I take from open spaces has grown into a longing for more land.  Well, perhaps not more land precisely but the spaciousness those women spoke about, the elbow room, the ability to do their thing without having to signal first.

I can see more clearly now how this desire for spaciousness, this leaning into open spaces formed us as a country.  Liberty.  Freedom.  Self-determination.  The land made us.

But lest I bask too long in the rosy glow, these same women also spent hours addressing their security concerns in a seminar on livestock guardian dogs.  They felt the vulnerability, too, and took significant, costly steps to protect their livestock, their property, and their family.  

I recently visited Bernice's farm in Iowa, a 100+ acre farm she referred to deprecatingly as 'just a small homestead' as we drove around it in her golf cart.  (Apparently small farm means something quite different than I had previously believed.)  She spoke about the last flood which closed the road, isolating them on their property for several days.  She spoke about raising her kids and farming while her husband worked off-farm for decades.  She introduced me to her dogs, all seven of them, which had been my purpose in the visit.  One lives in the house with her and the others are on rotating duty 24 hours/day.  Before she could let one particular male out of his kennel she asked me to get into the golf cart because he was known to nip strangers' heels to urge them off his property.  In answer to my unspoken question, she explained that he was particularly good at nighttime border patrol duty when no stranger, human or animal, was welcome.  We talked about my longing to feel safe and rather than poo-poo me as a skittish city slicker, she affirmed the prudence of my concerns and proposed preparedness and a dog as viable solutions.

Listening to these strong capable farming women talk about their fears and then how they take action in response has been empowering.  I thought it was just me being paranoid.  But these women aren't paranoid; they're powerful. 


Perhaps I need greater security in order to choose more spaciousness in my life. 

I'm not exactly sure what this means for us.

It's not just about space.  All farms have borders and all farmers have neighbors.  Even the women with large acreage tell stories about their neighbor issues. Our conflicts over wandering poultry, irritating sounds, and bad odors are minor compared to the twisted, dangerous neighbor tales I've heard.

It's not just about dogs.  We've tried the dog thing and we haven't been successful at it to date.  I wish I had a better security idea than dogs.  A quieter, easier, cheaper, equally reliable one.  But thus far, I don't.  And after all these women-and-dogs stories, I'm wondering if trying again would be persistent or foolish.  Maybe both. 

It's not just about making perfect choices either.  

It's about taking action in response to fear, threat, and danger. 

My action this morning is reflecting.  Hopefully, this will lead to some more best guess actions in good time.

Hopefully.

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