Ever since watching the documentary “The Business of Being Born” I’ve been enamoured with the idea of The Farm. The commune that was established back in the flower power era was, at one brief point, on the list of potential places to give birth. In my mind’s eye we would make the 1,000 mile pilgrimage from New York City to Summertown Tennessee a month before Baby Boy O’s arrival date, arriving joyous, round bellied and greeted by mystical midwives who would sprinkle rose petals as I walked along the path to motherhood.
Today’s lesson is two fold: firstly, the dream can differ significantly from reality, nevertheless the dream makes you recognize the elements that personally ring true, like the desire to be closer to nature and the belief in the human body to do what needs to be done. Secondly, is that even I have limits to the level of ‘granola-crunchiness-walk-on-a-rainbow-flower-power-patchouli-incense-chanting-and-drumming-earthiness’ I can take without wanting to jump in my petroleum burning vehicle and order a non-vegan burger.
All that being said, I have deep respect for the philosophy and conviction that seeded and grew The Farm to what it still is today.
Yesterday’s post: Predicament
Tomorrow’s post: