The view from my living room


view-from-my-living-roomThis is what I was watching while drinking coffee last week. While the use of pesticides outside my window does concern me a bit, it’s also pretty nice to see real farm work from the comfort of my living room. I thought about the farmer’s life. Even though we occupy a similar geographic space, we live in very different worlds:

My house is perched on the edge of a modern-on-a-budget housing complex, a few dozen boxy houses with big cars parked in front. The front doors are usually decorated in some reference to the nearest holiday: plastic pumpkins in October, red hearts in February. Rowdy kids play in the street and their mothers stand together not far away, gossiping about the latest neighborhood problems.

But this insulated community is an island, a suburban outpost in a sea of rural life. From my dining room window, I can see farmers from another generation working in the fields. Their back are bent from years of bearing the slow stead weight of carrots and potatoes. An elderly farmer and his wife work a few feet below the window. We rarely make eye contact.



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