What are we doing here?
and why does it matter? {an update}
In springtime, the ground is cold. We lay down tarps to smother the grass over a new garden bed and wait. We pull pesky weeds and shovel on carbon. It would be easier to do the things everyone else does and till, plant, and kill the unwanted at the expense the wanted. I am too entwined in ideals to choose anything for the sake of ease, I think, pulling yet another strand of poison ivy. It tears up three feet of ground in its path, disturbing my strawberry plants. We planted them on a chilly evening, flirting with the darkness after my husband got home. I could buy pale strawberries from the store in March, but what gratification would there be in that?
The other night I cut in half a thick, ribbed orange pumpkin and baked it till its skin softened and turned the color of rust. Only after the baking, the pureeing, and the straining was it time to even begin my custard recipe, three hours later, as they say. What are we even doing here? I thought. People who make pasta from scratch probably have thought the same from time to time. Or people who knit clothes, or grow vegetables, or write poetry.
I, like everyone else, endure the effects of living during a time when common opinion says that tasks should be easy. But though I am influenced by this fallacy, I am not a product of it. I have retained, for better or worse, a reactionary stubbornness for biological, traditional, and beauty-full process. Still, sometimes when I wake up early to shape loaves of bread, I think to myself, what are we doing here?
Another great myth of our era is that time spent at leisure is time wasted. I used to fall for this hook, line, and sinker, but now I make it a chief object of my life’s work to prove to you otherwise. Perhaps because I personally didn’t find the swift-moving current with its to-do lists and to-go cups at all fulfilling; perhaps because there is a conviction as deep as my bones that tells me otherwise. Put up your feet once in awhile. Pour a hot drink and savor it long. Just because you aren’t constantly making money, making headway on a project, or doing something valiant to save the world doesn’t mean this moment was ordained for anything beyond stillness and pure enjoyment.
Just how consequential are my efforts? Perhaps I needn’t be bothered to fully understand — perhaps it’s one of those things that isn’t for me to understand. Still, the scurrying around, the hours worked at an unglamorous job, the seeding and sowing and culling and nurturing beg the question from time to time, what are we doing here? It’s worth asking, even if it’s impossible to answer in the moment with a definitive, here’s what.
People say it’s important to habitually reevaluate your “why” in life. Why do I have this garden? Why am I working this job? Why am I putting my energy into these things, instead of these other ones? Why does it matter that my family lives in this way? Am I actually prioritizing the things I spout off to be my priorities?
Why do we have this garden? It feeds us, food that we either could not buy from anywhere else or would not want to pay for. And for beauty — that is always a valid reason why.
Why do we go out of our way for raw milk? Because there is nothing else like it, either in nutritional value or in taste and substance. God made cows to give milk so that we can drink it.
Why do I spend time reading an ancient book written by dead men? Those men may be dead, but the Word is living. It’s the spiritual food I need to grow in grace and love.
Why does it matter that our little family lives in harmony? These bonds are for life, and we are stronger together than we are apart.
Why do traditional skills matter? To remind us that we are human, not machines. And because we may very well need them, just as our ancestors did.
Once my philosophies have settled into place, questions of why are for the most part easily and naturally answered.
I’ve been thinking about this question with regard to my writing, particularly since one afternoon last week. On this day, I found myself caught up on my usual tasks and faced with a few hours of looming possibility, so I went outside and started writing down ideas for essays. Then a feeling of guilt came over me. What am I doing here? I could be researching things. I should be out helping someone. Very likely no one will ever read this. Why is it worth my time?
I have spent hours upon hours of my life in this usually private pursuit of writing. And here I am again, sitting on the grass in the sun. I am not a child anymore with afternoons to while away in a haymow in a notebook.
Several times I’ve been nearly swayed into letting it go…but I cannot forget what happens when I don’t write. Colors fade. People become less interesting, and my attention to detail becomes dull and lazy. Worse, I know in my heart I am slacking off on this role I am supposed to play as part of this human universe — even if I cannot always clearly see why.
So what are we doing here with this little periodical publication, tucked away as it is in a corner of the wide digital world? I’ve been pondering this lately, and the answer is a simple one. I am trying to bring you something beautiful. I want to fill your cup. I feel compelled to share what I’ve learned about the nourishment of body and soul. I hope to present a life of traditional values in a way that looks attainable, and not too radical. These are not new ideas, after all. Real thoughts, real words, real sustenance. Reverence for the Creator and Sustainer, and gratitude for His gifts.
Underneath these short essays, bookish newsletters and farm notes, some other projects are still smoldering. One in particular deserves some real attention, despite how unqualified I may feel about my writing skills. In the last several years of studying, farming, and building community, I haven’t written much fiction at all. But this November, my friend Jess and I are doing our own unofficial national novel writing month challenge. I have set a goal for myself to finish a project I began six years ago. The smoldering has gone on long enough, and at this point I just want it completed and out of my periphery. Plus, I still want to be a Real Author, and to be an Author one has to write books.
Of course I wonder, will I actually ever publish this? Will anyone ever read it? At this point, those questions are unimportant. It’s either worth my time to try, or it’s not, and I suppose I am trusting that something good will come of the effort.
Since I began writing on Substack, my goal has been to write thoughtfully and not in haste. I have tried to let pieces simmer for awhile, giving time to make sure what I’m sharing is in full accordance with what I really mean to say before I publish them. This has been (and still is) difficult, since it takes such a long time for me to carry an idea from inception to its final form. The result is I haven’t published as much or built as large of a readership in this first year as I had hoped, but the practice has been invaluable. I have high hopes for this place and what it may become, as a home for ideas to be born and for ancient truths to take up residence as well. I am not active at all on Substack notes, and I don’t network on any social media. I realize I am something of an internet recluse, but I hope the gentle souls who have found each other here will see these efforts as worthwhile — so the next time I find myself asking what it is I’m doing here, you all will have become part of the answer in a visible and appreciable way. (I always appreciate the silent reader as well!)
For the next month or so, I’ll be working on my novella, probably drinking strong coffee and draped in wool blankets. (Or maybe scattered in the grass while the rabbits keep me company.) I don’t have as much time as I would like to write because of ordinary life obligations, but what time there is will be carefully focused on this project. I’ll return here to Lady Agrarian in December, hopefully with a goodly helping of yuletide cheer.
…In the meantime, here are some Substack publications from which I have been finding beauty and insight in the last little while.
~ Tara at Slowdown Farmstead // on good farming, good food, always beautiful writing.
~ Shannon at Of Permanent Things // on literature and letter-writing, two things of everlasting value!
~ Raegan at Pretty Archaic // fiction and non-fiction, thoughtful ruminations on life well lived
~ Elisabeth at The Second Sentence // fiction and charming old-timey conversations about books
~ Emma
How wild for my writing to be recommended by one of the most talented essayists I know, and right up there on the list with dear Tara at Slowdown Farmstead, my goodness. I appreciate you.
Lady Agrarian is very apparently written "thoughtfully and not in haste.” Even your seasonal vignettes about current happenings seem to have the deliberate and settled qualities of a longer-form piece. You are a master of your craft: I say this not to flatter you, but because you continuously use it to magnify your Savior. Enjoy your hygge November novel endeavors!
Thank you so much for the shout-out!
You are succeeding in your aim of bringing us something beautiful. Your writing always gives off a sense of peace and thoughtfulness and richness, which is very lovely and restful compared to so much else of what is on the internet.