Sandwiched between a field of future McD’s french fries and vivid green alfalfa, listening to the wind blow sand in my leaky windows, I’m suffering from the grey weather blahs. Water falling from the sky, water flying from the irrigation pipes, and very little sunshine. I need some Vitamin D.
I could be knitting or paying bills, something productive, but the seemingly endless flurry of April showers has left me in a funk. Looking out my window and the excess of irrigation irritation, I am frustrated with the inefficiencies and inadequacies of American agriculture and food production. Some cool April mornings, one can look outside and see a quarter inch of ice rime clinging to the tender alfalfa leaves.
Beautiful, but perplexing. All of this early verdance is cut and baled regularly until late Fall, trucked to a feedlot, and fed to future steaks. I realize we are working for the agricultural “Man” and this is the process of production industrial agriculture supports. I should put my head down and keep going, because the Man is putting food on my table and retirement within our reach.
I love the fact my husband is able to pursue a dream, cowboying on the high desert. I love the fact we are able to support our family with this lifestyle. However, back at the ranch (literally) my father and step-mother are diligently pursuing holistic beef production, marketing their grass-fed beef directly to consumers. This is the kind of agriculture I am proud to support, this is my dream.
The clouds are shifting and the sun is making a brief appearance. No more plunking down funky thoughts, I am stepping out the door.