We should all be farmers. We should all be farming. By which I mean we should all know how to work our land, how to nurture it during the short while we are with it on it, how to take from it without leaving it barren for whomever is coming next.
Instead, we are warring. Nineteen, 400 years later, two millennia later, still mired in war. With our neighbor. With one another. With ourselves.
I garden. I am able to keep plants alive and well. Herbs, too. Even, a house tree.
I am aware of the bounty the Pachamama provides; I have seen it. (Most of you don’t get it: There are plenty more than three kinds of potato – and they do not come in chip form in a ridikolous bag.) And I understand that without our oceans in optimum health, we are nothing.
We should all be practically working in one way or another with our own two hands, quote-unquote, on projects that don’t require typing and that remind us of our humanity and our vulnerability here on Earth. I watched The Biggest Little Farm. I get it.
We should all be farming, indeed – or bending over backward to learn. The time to get ready is right now.
King of Cups 