Son of a Farmer

Mornings like these, I stroll out in the garden, baptising my spirit into Mother Nature. It is as if I’m hoping to blur my body into All Things, trying to accept this is All merely One Thing and nothing more.

It is easy to feel lost out here. At times it is a good thing. At times it is not. This is where the desert gave birth to the prairie. This is where vast plains roll on into forever and foreign automobiles scurry across the last bulge of the horizon to the next urban destination, fearing this type of isolation. Tumbleweeds hang in barbedwire fences, hoping to break free. Pumpjacks moan their desert cry. Coyotes howl for yesterday’s meal. Rattlesnakes curse the force of speeding tires. Buzzards circle overhead, anticipating a mid-day snack. Favonian forces scream through skeletal shacks that were once proud homes on this forgotten prairie. Still, we are here. Still, we persist.

That is the beauty of my ambivalent relationship with West Texas. It is home. It is my heart. It is my family. It is my freedom. It is my roots. It is my choice. Yet, at times, it is my despair. It is my grief. It is my prison.

The connection between any living creature and the elements is an innate treasure. That same bond between Farmer and Nature is obligation. We, as farmers, must be careful to not let drought, high winds, and scorching heat weaken our spirit or detour our tired feet from the intended paths. We are the last true Guardians of the Earth – redneck angels, if you will, clothed in denim, sweat, dust, and blood. We must take our occupation serious but with good humor. We must treat it as our religion and the crops we raise as our congregation.

I am not a Christian, my fellow liberators. But I am a Naturalist. I am a Farmer. I am a spirit breathing free. I am fear and courage. I am love and hate. I am a son. I am a Brother. I am a Father. I am a creator and destroyer. I am a lover and a fighter. I am a redneck and a hippie. I am a cowboy and an indian. I am one connected to all of you and the rest of what we see, hear, smell, and feel. This is what I try not to forget even when the winds try to scatter my thoughts amongst the sand or the drought suck dry the love in my heart or the heat weaken my will and strength.

So, let us not worry. Let us not fear. Look toward the horizon. Close your eyes. It looks like the rain we’ve been waiting for all this time.

Oh, the Irony of this title. Few of you remember when Hemp was not considered an evil of Mother Nature. Before 1937, who knew one plant could be stomped into oblivion by the Powers of Corporate Greed and the Blindness of Corrupt Government?

Now, some 70 years later Hemp is making its undeniable comeback. It is the one plant that can help turn around agriculture, as well as the economy here in America. This multifarious plant can be used to make anything.

Click here to urge your U.S. Congressman(woman) to pass HR1009 – the Industrial Hemp Farming Act of 2007. This was originally introduced by former Presidential nominee Ron Paul of Texas.

Do not fall for ridiculous propaganda. This plant is harmless. It is not marijuana (which in its rightful place, is neither evil nor harmful.) You can’t get stoned on it. Getting high on Hemp is the equivalent of getting drunk on O’Douls (non-alcoholic beer.) And that can’t happen. Trust me, I was once a very bored 16-year-old boy.

Let our voices shout and our commitment push this plant back to where it belongs – in the Earth of American fields, afterall it was the father of our country, George Washington, who said, “Sow the Indian Hemp seed everywhere.”