Thursday, October 7, 2010

DREAMS

I want a farm with pigs, chickens, goats, and sheep. I’d like an apple orchard, and fields with strawberries and raspberries. In the vegetable garden, I’d grow lettuce, radishes, cucumbers, tomatoes, melons, Brussels sprouts, kale, cauliflower, carrots, and squash. The farm would be in a temperate climate with four seasons but where the winters aren’t frigid and the summers don’t bake the soil and the people walking on it. The farm would be surrounded by woods where birds roost and small animals mate and raise their young. Neighbors would be a half hour walk away.

How would I earn my living so I wouldn’t be a burden on society? I’d feed my family on what I grew and raised. I’d bake pies with fresh fruit and cook ready-to-eat meals with local grown produce to sell in town. I’d sell goat cheese and natural ice cream. During the winter months, when not much grows, I’d weave scarves, knit baby clothes, crochet shawls and baby blankets, and sew dresses and shirts. My husband would craft sandals, pocket books, and children’s furniture.

I wish I’d lived that life. To bring the dream to life in fiction, I’d need to spend much time researching. Would the research take away the smell of damp soil and crisp apples? Would all I need to know and do activate feelings of inadequacy and low back pain? If I’d lived that life, would I have given birth to nerds who hankered after video games, Ikea furniture, and cybernetics?

When I was a child, adults stressed that education kept a person out of poverty and in the middle class. (I used to think we were a classless society but the middle class is big in politics as this year’s victim). I was told I needed a profession for job security and should marry a man with a profession. The professions I saw as a child were practiced in cities and suburbs.

Years ago, my great aunt said she thought I should work on the land. She shocked me to the depths of my ten year old soul. I planned to grow up into a skinny, beautiful model who earned millions and was adored by men with both muscles and brain. (I have been skinny). No way was I going to get up at dawn to milk cows and clean out animal pens. I should have listened to my great aunt. I could even argue that farming is a profession that can take its place alongside teaching and dentistry. Universities offer courses in agriculture.

Do you have an unfulfilled dream? Can you turn it into fiction?

6 comments:

  1. Nice post. I had a farm! I loved it, the smallest certified organic farm in my county in northeastern Massachusetts. I raised vegetables and fruit while I also raised babies. It really takes its toll on your muscles, though, at the same it provides meditative fresh-air work and healthy food. And I never made a profit. But I did write about 2/3 of my first mystery novel set on, you guessed it, a small organic farm.

    Then I rejoined the remunerative workforce, the babies grew up, I wrote a few short stories, and only two years ago did I resume novel writing. I still plan to revisit the farm book - Death by Pitchfork - but I have learned a lot about writing since then and it needs heavy revision. So instead I wrote a brand new book (Speaking of Murder) and it's almost ready to start the agent search!

    It's a nice dream, though. I say go for it.

    Edith
    http://edithmaxwell.blogspot.com/

    ReplyDelete
  2. The only resemblance my WIP has to my dreams is living at the beach and appreciating champagne. I guess our characters always have a part of us in them, except our villians. Like Edith, I always dreamed of writing, but never had the time until my kids grew up and went forth. I still don't have much time and it is a frustration. Before she died, my mother told me not to expect having time for myself. Her life never slowed down as she had expected. Now that's the ultimate dream--having the time to do everything you want to do!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Edith,

    I love Death by Pitchfork -- it's such a great visual.

    I hadn't given it much thought but Pauline's post caused me to consider that my fiction is often more about what I fear than what I dream about (in the positive sense.)

    I suppose that's just one more confirmation I'm a glass half-empty person no matter how much I try to gussy it up.

    ~ Jim

    ReplyDelete
  4. Thanks, Max,for the encouragement and good luck with placing Speaking of Murder.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Time was always my issue while the kids were growing and I had a full time job. However, there are women, ?superwomen, who write, publish, and raise a family and work. Maybe I need to work harder at scheduling my time.

    ReplyDelete
  6. I agree, Jim, Death by Pitchfork is a great title. Often, while I'm working in the garden, I notice how dangerous garden utensils are. Here I am, communing with nature and encouraging honey bees, and wondering about the serious infection that would follow a wound made by a sharp spade or rake. Dreams turn into nightmares very quickly.

    ReplyDelete