work

A Day in the Life: Hands

He looked at his hands. They were scarred but soft. Every wrinkle had been earned. He even say the faded white line of the pig’s last dying kick, the hoof catching him between his thumb and forefinger.

The seventeen stiches on his index finger; the soft, pink leftovers of that night, slightly discolored was a reminder of a past he wanted to forget and a future he wanted to live once more.

The incidental cuts on his knuckles that showed up, often caked with dirt, left little dots. He pulled the small flap of skin of a scrape off and let the dirt coagulate the blood. One more dot.

His fingers showed his life. The broken knuckle at the end of one of his fingers, the flattened finger nail, his obsession, his hatred and his happiness. “Shit!” he almost yelled as a piece of sharp wood wedged its way into his palm leaving a red blotch and a piece of wood sticking out. He pulled it out and continued working.

Over the years his hands slowly changed from soft and dimpled to calloused and dirty and back again. His pride altered with the time stamped on his hands.

Lucky

There was nothing she was in want of. Enough was her norm. She worked but not for the need of money; only out of boredom and the need for something to do. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to feel the need of necessity or that she didn’t like the satisfying feeling at the end of the month. She simply didn’t need it.

She didn’t take any of this for granted. She was not entitled. She had simply won a lottery she never entered to play. It was as if the world wandered away. It was as if she was sidelined to watch time pass. There was only one thing she wanted and she even got that, if only in bits and bites. It was a dream but it meant handing the lottery winnings over.

Was it fear? Was it sadness?

And so the years went by and she worked passionately without the need to. She never became numb to time or worn out from sameness and the cruel ways of the world. She simply gave up dreams and tried to understand that life was truly short and the she should really consider herself lucky.

“What do you do?”

We can thank religion, also, for our fanatic worship of work. Because of our newly founded idiocracy (caused also by unfounded belief) our imaginations have been drained dry and what is left is a shell, ready to be filled by ideology and idiocy.

We are not interested in what purpose each of us has or to what end that we act or thinking, but only to what the other “does”. What an ugly word: “does”. It is only interested in meritocratic acts, in usefulness, only in biding time until death.

“What do you do?” “What have you done?” These questions lack interest and sincerity. They are not asked out of curiosity but out of judgement. They are not asked out of interest. No. Only out of the lack of knowing what else to ask.

Work is defined from necessity now. It is no different than eating, sleeping or shitting; a bodily function. I am not interested in “what you do”- but only “why you do it”. But to no avail because meritocracy inevitably leads to the mediocracy of money.

Work

Work. Work the mind and the body and peace and tranquility will follow. Work with purpose and control what you do for work. Work for others, not because you must, not because they pay you to work, but because you desire the peace and tranquility that only work can give.

In our deluded society we barter meaningless things for the illusion that we work. We must, it is true, work to be independent, but it is not payment that makes us independent. It is our realization that independence is a worthy cause to work for.

If the argument is that “we must…”, that “our society demands…” then it is a lie. It is deception on both parts: ourselves and others. Do not believe that we must meet the expectations of others, and lower the expectations you have of yourself. Remember:

You are not owed anything. You are guaranteed nothing.

Mastery

Try to become a master at something. It is difficult. It is misunderstood. And if you succeed, which is doubtful, you will live in a world that thrives on mediocrity and overlooks your art. It will redefine mastery to include mediocrity.

But to be a master you must overcome all of this. A master dismisses those who smile snidely and do not care for such heights. A master does not brag because an artist does not need to. Mastery, though, comes at even a higher cost than all of this.

Failure is the norm. Progress is slow and tedious, often feeling like it is non-existent. You will be alone and the world will not care for what you love most. It will take a lifetime to realize that you have not achieved your goal. There will always be better. Your ego will stay bruised and you will relinquish pride with a tear in your eye.

Honesty will be forced and you will kneel, humbled, at the foot of the mountain that you know you must climb. This is when you will be a master but feel like a novice.

A Paradise of One

Self-sufficiency is often defined by a determined belief that freedom is defined by individualism.  This is simply not true.  To be self-sufficient, others are necessary.  It does not matter that we view our societies as slowly evolving towards, even progressing towards, our dependency upon others in the modern world; this has always been the case.

Centuries ago people depended upon their neighbors.  The community was a support group for the self-sufficient.  Your neighbor could fix the plumbing and you were a good gardener; working together kept both you and the community progressing towards both happiness and efficiency.

And although our communities are being redefined and molded to include more and more, larger areas, and diverse cultures, this one simple principle still applies: we need each other.  This is one of the simple truths that we must come to realize or we perish.

There is no such thing as going it alone; there is no paradise of one.

Boredom

Much of the work done when we care becomes tedious and it is at these times that we notice, that we begin to think that what we do does not matter.  That is a mistake.  All things, all jobs, all activities are tedious when we delve into them in depth.  That is the nature of being in depth, of understanding the nature of doing things.

The tediousness does not keep our little voice busy; it does not keep our egos at bay;  tediousness is boredom with a different name.  Only that when we do something indepth we cannot afford boredom.  That is the secret of success and perhaps even contentedness: to realize that all things are tedious at some level.  Tediousness is not the problem, it is our attitude towards it that is.

First, to be content we must be motivated by something other than profit.  We must be motivated by the virtue of tediousness, the acceptance of boredom.  In order to do this we do lose something: our ego, our un-admitted reliance upon what others think.  We all care, but perhaps simply about the wrong things.

To enjoy the boredom in our lives is a learned character trait.  We dismiss this this simple possibility at our own peril.

The Spirit of Work

Cup of coffee in hand and looking out over the fields, it is difficult to muster the motivation to give up the fire and go out to work.  But, as always, there is work.  This is not bad thing, it is just that the grey mornings and rainy weather have a tendency to dampen the spirit of working.

That spirit to work, that drive to do something, something meaningful defines who we are.  Work is neither a right or a bane.  Rather, it is that intentional act to give meaning.  We do not have a right to work, we must simply work in order to have rights.  Work is not a heavy load to bear with a dreary mind, work is what we do no matter our attitude towards it.

There is always work, and work can always wait.  But why?  Why make the meaning in our lives wait for sunny days or better dispositions?  For those who do not understand the spirit of work, we are too busy.  For those who misunderstand the spirit of work, we are not busy enough.

And so the coffee finished and a final log put on the fire, I don the overalls and you (perhaps) don a suit and we both work in the spirit of making meaning in our lives one minute at a time.

Simple

Work is not complicated.  Today is not complicated.  We simply must do what must be done.  The morning was started with the dog and evolved to some carpentry.  The sun out, became more beautiful as the day slowly grew.  The wood cut, and lunch.

Out came the chicks; the sun would do them good.  Enjoying the sunny day the chicks played and slept, ate and drank.  Simple times; simple life.

The afternoon started slowly, the tractor in place and the chipper hooked up.  The brush awaited.  The chipper started and the chipping began.  One pile, and then another.  Almost Buddhist in its meditation: the brush goes in and chips come out.

The chips themselves simple in their creation.  They will start as hen house bedding, and the compost and then on into the garden to start the cycle again.  One day growing a tree that will be cut and used, even to its smallest branches.

The piles of chips, sitting in the sunshine, and a shovel.  The old trailer brought to life but first the hitch attached to the tractor.  The work is hard and the day is beautiful: both simple in their very nature.

The trailer full of chips and the stored for the winter.  The day is simple; work is not complicated.  As it should be; as it should be.

 

Doing What Needs to be Done

About two years ago I gave up a cush and fairly lucrative job teaching college to experiment with self-sufficient living.  Since then I have struggled with what to say when people ask me what I do.  The conversations are a bit awkward, at least for me.

First, I am not retired.  It is difficult to remember the last time I worked this hard.  Self-sufficiency consists of farming, but not the industrial type.  Self-sufficient farming is physical and limited, but is rewarding and incredibly efficient if done correctly.  But self-sufficient living is not limited to farming; I am not “just” a farmer.

Self-sufficient living relies upon the ability to fix things, to build things, to plan things, to heat and cool and keep alive.  Self-sufficiency by its very nature is the dichotomy of retirement.  It is the realization that retirement is synonymous with inability.

Secondly, I am not a contractor.  While it is true that much of what I do during the day is carpentry-based the job title is not fully described by carpentry.  While it is true that cabinets and counter tops are installed, they are also built often with wood that was milled right at the farm.  But, I do not own a sawmill and I am not a cabinet builder.  I sometimes must repair machinery or bring old machinery back to life, but I am not a mechanic.

Lastly,  I make money and money is necessary, yes, but self-sufficient living is an act that strives to make money much less necessary.  The hours in the week working at Trollcastle Farm is directly deposited into the bank account but does not come in the form of a check.  Rather, it comes by not having to pay someone else; often money does not exchange hands.  Money comes from not having to buy all the material that I use, all the food I eat.

So, what do I do?  I run a business, a sole proprietorship.  I fix and build things; I grow things, I am a caretaker of the little piece of land that I have.  I work.  I am a working man.  I do what needs to be done.  That is what I do.