Making The Farm Great Again

A parable

A businessman inherited his father’s farm. The land, farther than the eye could see in every direction, was cultivated in diverse crops, orchards and vinyards. The son was proud of what his family had built for generations, so he was eager to take over, assuring his family — and the hired hands who lived on the property — that he could increase their wealth.

The son’s enormous farm was also surrounded by smaller farms, some raising cattle, sheep and pigs as well as crops. In town, when the harvest of his first year was greater than ever, the son bragged to the other farmers that his was the best in region. They laughed it off and teased him, in the spirit of fun. But he was hurt by it.

To win their respect, he got up on the church steps, gathered a crowd and told how his ancestors bought a small farm and expanded it over the years through personal sacrifice, battles with their neighbors, legal disputes and lots of hard work. It was a story they’d heard before, but the manner of its telling was new — shocking. He blamed much of the struggles his grandfather and father had had on the other families.

Every Sunday after the service, the businessman-turned-farmer got up on the steps to tell his neighbors what he was doing right and what they were doing wrong. He called them names, told bald-faced lies, and openly criticized those who disagreed with him. It was shocking, but entertaining in a way, to hear his outrageous claims and rude comments. Many people walked away.

As the young farmer’s insistence grew, so did the crowds. Many were convinced that his farm was the greatest in the land, due to his experience as a big city businessman and his weekly tirades at the church. One Sunday he said to them, “All I have to preach is the gospel of independence: Be strong! Trust no one but yourself! Don’t let anybody tell you you’re wrong! And don’t let anyone kid you — it’s all about money!”

To keep out disbelieving, critical neighbors and better define his property, the self-sufficient son built a fence around it. Before, the neighboring families had regularly swapped tools and machinery, helped each other when additional manpower was needed, shared information about seeds and farming practices, spoke of the weather, celebrated family events together, held cookouts and barn dances. Regularly, adults went to each others’ houses just to visit, swap stories and have a beer while their children played.

By mid-Summer, the independent farmer’s crops were again growing taller than those in his neighbors’ fields. This he saw as validation of his philosophy. When his harvest turned out to be exceptional, he posted signs in town and along the fences proclaiming: “Being the best, we only deal with the best.” He’d convinced himself that the other families would want to adopt his philosophy. Some did, but they kept to themselves.

Seasons changed. The merchant who owned the local seed store was a “disbelieving fool,” so the independent farmer drove six hours round-trip to get the seeds he needed. And when it came time to sell his harvest, other disbelievers offered him less than his neighbors. Then came a series of trials for the farmer.

A tornado whipped across one of his fields, nearly demolishing a barn. Neighbors offered to help, but not wanting to appear weak, the independent farmer turned them away. A flood came, wiped out twenty percent of his crops, and the bottom floor of his house was ruined. This time no one offered to help. “The hell with them!” he proclaimed. “They’ll see, we can get along without them!”

The barn they were rebuilding caught fire. The hired hands showed up too late. It burned to the ground. Not having the preventative information the other farmers had, insects ravaged his orchards. Believing he and his family were “hardy people” and flu shots interfered with DNA, they disregarded the recommendations. Three adults and a teenager died. Four others were gravely ill. The hired hands and their families had all gotten flu shots. They remained healthy. The “boss” said any children born to those who got the shot would be “retarded.”

The independent farmer’s fields began to yield less and less, year after year. As the farms around him did better, the family pleaded with him to tear down the fences and signs. He resisted, complaining that his neighbors were “fools,” not “true farmers.” To show who was “true” and who was not, he gave his family and workers caps, T-shirts and jackets that boasted: “True Farmer.”

After years more of failing crops the farmer, holding on to his independence, died. They buried him wearing a True Farmer cap and jacket. Many attended the funeral, but most were outsiders, curiosity seekers. The sons of two neighbors approached the independent farmer’s eldest son. “We missed you,” they said. “Our farms were better when there weren’t any fences. Now, with everyone lookin’ out for themselves, we’ve become adversaries. How’d that happen? Farmin’s changed an’ it’s all goin’ bad.”

The grandson walked a path between dried grapevines. “What am I gonna do?” He asked himself. “The fields are goin’ downhill fast. It’s torn the family apart.” He remembered. When he was a boy, everyone cared. “We were in it together. Whatever happened, we could handle it. Our neighbors were…”

In short order, the True Farmer T-shirts, caps and jackets were gone. Also gone were the fences. Sitting in a great circle on a Saturday night, families throughout the region, farmers and others, watched as the signs proclaiming independence were heaved onto burning timbers. When the grandson stood up on a box, the children who’d been dancing around the fire stopped and sat.

With a raised bottle he toasted: “To a prosperous future for all!” Then, in turn, he pointed the bottle to the neighbors, acknowledging the contributions that each family had made toward making the whole land better for everyone. After that he said, “Each of us is a thread in the tapestry of this land. When it gets frayed, it falls apart. But woven together, it’s one, damn strong cloth. It isn’t a weakness to shore each other up; it’s what makes us strong, the way we all thrive.” One of the neighbors called out. “We can only be our best with each other.”

In a moment of silence but for the crackling of the fire, a woman said softly. “It’s all about love. Love of the land and each other.”