I was looking around my Facebook feed the other day and noticed a post by a friend. She had posted Something Awful and was asking folks to sign a petition to help make the Something Awful stop.
These kinds of posts bother me tremendously for two reasons: 1) I cannot stand to see intensely important, awful, and sometimes criminal things pop up when I don’t expect it over my morning coffee, and 2) while I completely see the need to raise awareness about a whole host of issues, I don’t necessarily agree that random Facebook posts are the appropriate forum.
In this spirit, about a minute after the original post went up, one of my friend’s friends responded in the comment field, “Done!”
And this bothered me as well.
It occurred to me that we have become a society, largely through the fault/assistance of social media, that interacts with the world at large by skirting the periphery. This woman read the story (or watched the video, or got the gist of it by scanning the article, etc.) and then took a moment to click some links and fill in some fields to cast her vote against (or perhaps for legislation banning) whatever the Something Awful happened to be.
And then she went on with her life, presumably feeling that she had Done! something that contributed in a meaningful way to the problems of the day.
And maybe she had.
But, I have to say that I’m not sold. I find it difficult to believe that clicking a link on the computer from your kitchen table will stop Something Awful from happening. I truly hope that I am wrong.
But this is not what this post is about.
This post is about what the woman who wrote “Done!” made me realize about my life and my responsibilities lately.
These days have been considerably busier than before (for the record, before was plenty busy). Now, in addition to the farm, we are into year ten of owning a reasonably popular Brooklyn restaurant, year 14 of keeping two children alive, and year one of opening and running a cheese and specialty foods shop in Chatham, New York.
Because getting a new venture up and running is a full-time job on its own, all the other stuff seems to take a back seat. The problem is that there isn’t much on a farm of any size that can take a back seat to anything because a farm is comprised totally of living things.
Since we aren’t (completely) horrible humans, all of our animals remain well-cared for, always receiving plenty of food and water and treats and love. The gardens, however, have received the lion’s share of the neglect we have to offer. This is where the “something’s gotta give” seems to have given.
The other day, we finally committed to, roughly, six straight hours of weeding.
The weedy, weedy broccoli patch
On an organic farm, weeds are king. Unless you have A LOT of spare time or a staff of full-time weeders at your disposal, weeds will be a large part of your life.
If you actually manage to find the time to attend to it, however, there is something really gratifying about getting down in the dirt and dealing with them.
We managed to get through the carrots, radishes, brussels sprouts, half the kale, the majority of the delicata squash, and the broccoli.
When I started the broccoli, it was a challenge to determine where the broccoli rows even were.
Weed-free broccoli!
The weeds had fairly taken over and so I hunkered down to the hugely daunting task, pulling weeds that were more abundant and certainly larger than the edible plants themselves.
But, when the job was complete, the pigs had quite the feast and it really did seem like something had been accomplished. These plants now stood a chance. A difference had most certainly been made.
All this, without the push of a button.
Done!
applewood farm 
yes, yes and more yes.
🙂
Found your blog somehow through Maggie Estep. Just want you to know that I thoroughly enjoy every one of your postings.
I am an animal and nature lover and admire people who write well and thoughfully. You fit the bill 100%.
Thank you!!
Thanks, Claudette!
If you look under DONE in the dictionary you will see a picture of your beautiful broccoli. xo Mom
Very sweet; thanks.
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Thanks, Bill. Very kind of you!
Even though I cleared out every single weed and blade of grass in our watermelon garden–twice–the grass is now waist high and I have to search for melons by feeling around with my foot. I can see why black plastic mulch is attractive.
I don’t know how you juggle so many balls. It’s impressive. That’s a fine looking broccoli patch. I’ve just seeded ours. They won’t go into the ground for a few more weeks. No broccoli for us till fall.
so here’s what I wonder: did I write the done? I am a friend of a friend. And I’m not saying it was me at all, because you know lots of people and justifiably, as your posts and what you do are totally adorable and great, and because FB is all about the friend of a friend who friends you. But eerily, I did have one occasion on FB where I did that done thing. That smug little click. I had seen someone else write “done,” after another something awful, and I thought, huh. That might work. I never know what to say. Do I say this is AWFUL and rant? Do I not say anything? Does a signature on a petition help, now that there are gathousands of them? But I tried it I clicked and signed and wrote done.
But I didn’t feel done. If that was me, and since I once did do that, it is, in a sense, the general me, then the truth is I felt more undone by writing that done than I’d thought I would. I felt that very thing you’re talking about: that urgent and then forgotten nature of peripheral action; that false sense of having done something, that emptiness after reflex. Also, all day that image of that something awful kept replaying in my head. I wasn’t done at all. I was kind of undone. So yes. love this post of yours. Congrats, also, on the piglets. We have chicks here now, and it’s wonderful: life is not done. xo.
It was not you.
I am, however, insanely glad that you thought so since it prompted you to write what you wrote. Which I loved.
relieved. would hate to be that “done” girl.
but also: from another post: the pig is the pound cake of the animal world. that, I loved.