Reading Brooks's latest book had been thinking deeply about how the qualities necessary in small farmers relate in my life as a (admittedly lightweight) homemaker in an urban setting.
I can’t ever remember not wanting animals - particularly farm animals - but I am deeply rooted in an urban setting, so I settle for having an amazing dog, a garden for vegetables and flowers, and three hens.
Brooks highlights the qualities of imagination, affection and fidelity in being key qualities necessary to help small farmers maintain their land and lives despite the almost insurmountable pressure pitted against them.
I keep thinking about affection in particular when it comes to my hens. They're a chore, an idea we jumped on during the pandemic when our travel-loving selves were temporarily grounded. We can’t escape town as easily now because of the minimal but consistent care they require. The mental burden of finding a sitter is enough to make me think twice about a trip. I have never bothered to calculate if they’re even financially worth it (if you are thinking about getting a few, they're probably not).
For me, the affection towards my animals goes beyond the eggs. I wake before the crack of dawn everyday, don mosquito protection in the sticky humidity, de-poop the coop, and listen to the their individual coos. It was a surprise to me that these sisters each has a different voice! On neighborhood walks, I keep an eye out for curbside items that may enhance their “jungle gym.” I know what kitchen scraps they really like, and what they’ll snub like fussy toddlers. Whether it's the unbearable dog days of summer or the arctic blasts that reach their fingers down to lay a coat of ice on the south, I am out there, making sure my ladies have what they need. Yet it makes my heart swell when I turn the corner to leave and I hear Claire cawing the "flock separation" call, or when I see Mrs. Fitzgibbons trip over a log coming around the corner at break neck speed after she hears me cry "ladies!"
I also experience fidelity to this land. I always shirked at plants when younger, but now I’m putting in honest physical effort to maintain a vegetable and flower garden. It’s mostly wild in appearance sometimes, and I can safely say my least favorite chore is watering. I manage compost bins to nurture the gardens with our scraps and chicken waste, and am pleased to see how little trash we put into the street bins because of our efforts to reduce our earthly footprint.
I imagine having more land because I want more animals: give me the goats, horses, pigs and cows! However, I’m also torn about leaving my little square for more land. Our city plot isn’t much, but I’ve put a lot of love, care, and time into it. As more of the older residents leave, the neighborhood homes are becoming rentals. I can’t imagine that a tenant would care for this little city plot the way I have. So, I rarely even entertain the idea of us moving. My home is here with my chickens and my monstrous tomato plants; the stubborn squirrel taking out my pansies and the cardinals that steal chicken food when I go inside; the tiny trees we planted this fall and the old willow oak next door which drops approximately 89% of its leaves in my driveway.
All my musings were better identified and appreciated because the stories Brooks shares in this book have broader universal connections in people. People that love, dream, and are rooted in their home. At times, the book is very weighty in its topic and implications, but if you allow it to - if you'll sit through the difficulty - you may find windows to human connection open in you. You may, too, find the small farmer in yourself.