Today, a group of us drove over to a farm in Gorin to pick up some sheep manure. This morning it had been raining quite heavily, but the sky was clear and bright by mid-day and filled with amazing and hugely puffy clouds. It was quite a sight as we rolled up and down the gravel roads.
When we got there, the owner of the farm had driven up to the barn where we were to start shoveling. He was an older man in his late 60s, with the traditional farmer get-up: faded blue jeans, and old and worn button down short-sleeved shirt, a tattered mesh baseball cap, and he chewed on a toothpick while we all spoke. He was an extremely friendly gentlemen who spoke happily and openly while we worked. He was generous enough to let us shovel as much of the manure and soil that we wanted, and he asked us about the ecovillage while he shared some information and stories about his own family and work. One of his more interesting stories was about getting electricity for the first time. He was seven or eight years old and had gotten home from school, and his mother had attempted to explain that the family need to now only flick a switch to turn the lights on, and the farmer recalled that he was perplexed by the notion. The year was 1945. Only sixty years ago.
Nevertheless, he had some interesting stuff to say.
After our shoveling trip, I somehow felt that this man must be a great example of the kindhearted mid-western farmer figure. I hope I can meet more of these people some day.
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