I was reading the inaugural issue of a new periodical, Taproot and I found myself having this physical reaction to literally burrow into the arms of all the writers and photographers. Here is a community of people who "get it".
For years my darling husband and I have been attempting to live more simply and sustainably. "Sustainable" has different meanings for different people, and people are drawn towards sustainability for many different reasons--economic, environmental, social justice, spiritual--to name a few. For me, the whole concept of sustainability encompasses all of these reasons. I think Shannon Hayes, author of Radical Homemakers, touches a large part of what I have been feeling in her essay, "Cultivating the Rich Soil of Our Lives":
We live in bizarre times, victims of a post-industrial era that, for the sake of efficiency, has segmented our culture into factions--some produce the food, some produce the education, some produce goods and services. This segmentation fails to acknowledge our need to be human, to engage in daily work that feeds our minds and our bodies and reestablishes our oneness with the earth. Perhaps more carrots can be produced, more books can be written, more art can be created, more kids can be schooled, more numbers can be crunched and more albums can be produced if one person plants carrots, and someone else writes the books, and someone else paints pictures, and someone else teaches our kids, and someone else crunches the numbers and someone else plays the music and someone else cooks the carrots. But none of us is experiencing what it means to be fully human, where our unique minds and bodies work in harmony with our spirits and nature to create and provide for our wellbeing. I believe this segmentation of our lives becomes a source of despair.
And despair it is. As I mentioned in earlier postings, our little village is setting up its own Farmers' Market. The concept is a good one, and yet I am finding that something as simple and as vital as providing food for our neighbors gets bogged down in the economics of the situation. In order to be vendors, we need to purchase rider on our homeowner's insurance. In order to sell certain types of food, we need to become certified to use a commercial kitchen. All of this requires cold, hard cash. All of it requires that we go through layers upon layers of red tape. I'm not lazy. I like hard, physical work. I fell content and valued and whole when I plant or harvest or care for livestock. But I just want to give you the darn head of lettuce, and in return you can give me a bar of soap. Or give me cash for the lamb, and then I will invest that cash into wood for heating next year. Why does something so simple always have to become so complicated? The very process of working through the bureaucracy chips away at the primal and spiritual connection that we should have with our environment. It certainly drains the life-giving force from me as I ponder in these moments of despair if the farming and the living off the land is really worth it. Is it truly possible for us to all slow down, to reevaluate what is really important in our lives, and still be able to thrive in our world today?
One remedy for this bureaucracy-induced despair is to ignore it. Go off the grid. Buy, sell and barter under the table. There are plenty of people who live that way. Yet another is to do exactly what you're doing--face the problem head on. That's only a first step, however. You have to get through the despair or else...why bother? For years, people at networking sites like Homesteading Today have been helping each other navigate through the bureaucracy and maintain their spiritual connections with the land and with other people. Resources are out there to help us all overcome despair through hope. I hope you find them!
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