Yesterday’s post has me sounding like a lack-a-daisical worker, which is a) not my point and b) patently false. I’m trying to bring to light, Kingsolver style, the challenges that arise when someone trained for intelligentsia tries their hand at manual labor. I’ve found it both humbling and empowering; my employers have seemed bemused but ultimately satisfied.
Similarly, my relationship with the demi-gods of efficiency has been re-visited. Again, cultural mores strengthened by familial outlook hold a strong sway. My whole life, efficiency has been next to godliness, because who doesn’t want to get more done in less time? In college I felt that in tasks assumed, quantity was valued over quality, although the requisite sacrifices of health and sanity were epidemic. Given the costs, the rewards for efficiency long ago lost their shine. Farming offered me a much-needed chance to slow down and search for an alternative.
It was hard to let go: a nagging, judgmental attitude demanding more efficiency followed me from school to farm. Confusingly, my farmers, with their anti-industrial mind-set but also a business to run, needed yet also discouraged it. I did learn to let it rest. I found the value in taking more time: I noticed more, learned more, grew more engaged with the whole farm system. (I also probably worked more slowly than necessary.)
I’ve learned that it’s deeply valuable to commune with nature, and to respect a task by giving it time and full attention. But when I know that hungry people, thirsty animals, or simply a ticking clock await, an attitude of “let ‘em wait” doesn’t sit well with me. Yet I haven’t quite perfected the calculation of when to do something well and when to just get it done. With some things, I’m proud to have learned to do them well and fast. But there are still plenty of times when I have to choose, or just seek a happy (i.e. resigned) medium.
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