There was a theory advanced some years back that Japanese process the sound of rain in the same region of the brain that they process language. Imagine processing such a sound of nature as language as opposed to mere noise. How might that affect ones spiritual beliefs and creative expression? I’m not sure the theory was ever substantiated, but I feel I don't process the sounds of the farm the same way as the ambient noise that fills the background to most of our lives.
While the scrub jays maybe the loudest, they are hardly the only ones involved in the farm's continuous chautauqua. Wrens, crows, western tanagers, towhees, an Anna's hummingbird that has laid claim to the top of one of the larger pines, and gray and red squirrels also have their say. Kona, our lab, is not to be left out of the mix and is frequently notifying the squirrels and neighboring cats that prowl the farm of his feelings about their presence.
The bees, oblivious to all other conversations, go buzzing about their business while adding an even more artistic form of communication to the mix - dance. Scout bees return to the hive and perform a dance to indicate distance, direction, and quantity of their finds. For bees, foraging is not a random process; they leave the hive with a plan of where they're going and what they are looking for. (Bees are not just collecting nectar but also pollen, water, and propolis - a sticky resin or "bee glue" used to close up openings less than 3/8 of an inch within the hive.)
Immersed in this vocal melange I begin to notice changes in the nature of my own inner dialogue. The volume diminishes, softens. The squawk of the inner critic fades and a tone of self acceptance emerges.
One of my motivations for using organic methods for my farm and apiary is to make sure the myriad of voices are not lost. Obviously I can't control what the birds,squirrels, bees, visiting deer and cats eat as they wander to other farms and yards in the area. What I can do is take responsibility for my part of the food chain and make sure that I'm farming with best practices. Perhaps farmers and ranchers (and anyone in the food industry) should swear allegiance to the Hippocratic concept of "doing no harm". We must remember that whatever our crops and livestock consume, we will consume.
David Mas Masumoto(Epitaph for a Peach) wrote that he found an effortless way to manage his weed problem on his organic peach farm - he relabeled his weeds as "natural grasses". While only partly joking, the point is we need to change our perspective when it comes to producing and consuming food. I don't want the biggest, perfectly colored tomato. I want a tomato with flavor and one that nourishes the body and if I have to accept the occasional blemish to get that, it's worth changing my criteria of the "perfect" tomato. I want my bees to be healthy as well as my honey, so I don't use toxic chemicals in the hive or overload them with sugar syrup as a substitute for their own honey to get them to produce more.
The choir that inhabits my farm may not consciously be aware of the effort to follow such best farming practices, but I'm aware and perhaps, someday, my future grandchildren will be also.
While the scrub jays maybe the loudest, they are hardly the only ones involved in the farm's continuous chautauqua. Wrens, crows, western tanagers, towhees, an Anna's hummingbird that has laid claim to the top of one of the larger pines, and gray and red squirrels also have their say. Kona, our lab, is not to be left out of the mix and is frequently notifying the squirrels and neighboring cats that prowl the farm of his feelings about their presence.
The bees, oblivious to all other conversations, go buzzing about their business while adding an even more artistic form of communication to the mix - dance. Scout bees return to the hive and perform a dance to indicate distance, direction, and quantity of their finds. For bees, foraging is not a random process; they leave the hive with a plan of where they're going and what they are looking for. (Bees are not just collecting nectar but also pollen, water, and propolis - a sticky resin or "bee glue" used to close up openings less than 3/8 of an inch within the hive.)
Immersed in this vocal melange I begin to notice changes in the nature of my own inner dialogue. The volume diminishes, softens. The squawk of the inner critic fades and a tone of self acceptance emerges.
One of my motivations for using organic methods for my farm and apiary is to make sure the myriad of voices are not lost. Obviously I can't control what the birds,squirrels, bees, visiting deer and cats eat as they wander to other farms and yards in the area. What I can do is take responsibility for my part of the food chain and make sure that I'm farming with best practices. Perhaps farmers and ranchers (and anyone in the food industry) should swear allegiance to the Hippocratic concept of "doing no harm". We must remember that whatever our crops and livestock consume, we will consume.
David Mas Masumoto(Epitaph for a Peach) wrote that he found an effortless way to manage his weed problem on his organic peach farm - he relabeled his weeds as "natural grasses". While only partly joking, the point is we need to change our perspective when it comes to producing and consuming food. I don't want the biggest, perfectly colored tomato. I want a tomato with flavor and one that nourishes the body and if I have to accept the occasional blemish to get that, it's worth changing my criteria of the "perfect" tomato. I want my bees to be healthy as well as my honey, so I don't use toxic chemicals in the hive or overload them with sugar syrup as a substitute for their own honey to get them to produce more.
The choir that inhabits my farm may not consciously be aware of the effort to follow such best farming practices, but I'm aware and perhaps, someday, my future grandchildren will be also.
Gracefully written, as always! Makes me think of one of my aural cues of summer: crickets. So much emotion and memory tied into a such a small sound. I didn't even start hearing them until the first week of August, late this year. Always a pleasure reading about the farm! :)
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