EARTHWORMS DON'T CARE A LICK
As the world stops today in hushed anticipation of the U.S. election outcomes, it occurred to me this morning that the earthworms I carefully brushed off the pieces of firewood at the bottom of the woodpile have no clue about this momentous occasion and go right on about their activities as though it's the least thing in the world to worry about.
That was a long opening sentence and you probably had to take a breath somewhere about halfway, but my goodness it's nice to be out here on the farm where the plants and animals are oblivious to the brouhaha we humans are engaging in today. What a stabilizing thing to know that when I checked the cows this morning, not a single one was thinking about face masks, taxes, or voting.
The deer Daniel is hunting this morning with his muzzle loader have no clue that down the road people are lining up, donning obligatory face masks, and coloring in a square on a ballot to receive an "I Voted" sticker as they exit.
The lady at our precinct handing a sample ballot to everyone was putting her hands all over the sample ballot: everyone entering all day will touch that same ballot. When we put our ID on the scanner, nobody cleaned the scanner between times. I wonder how many germs got transferred as each person took out a plastic ID, put it in the same reader as everyone else, and then retrieved it?
What an interesting juxtaposition that this expression of our values and choices must be done within a context of scientific stupidity and blind adherence to foolish protocols. The feeling of tyranny and oppression was palpable as numerous people, in utter and aggressive noncompliance, took down their bandannas partway through the process. "Throw me out, I dare you," screamed from the blazing eyes of many voters. I wore my NRA hat.
Far worse than the pandemic is what it's brought us to as a society. Spouses denied entrance to nursing homes where their lifelong partner and confidante now lies without advocate or accountability, a cog in a bureaucratic system.
Meanwhile, back on the farm, laying hens happily hop up into their nest boxes and give us delicious eggs. Cows lie contentedly in the meadow, chewing their cud. The pigs root long furrows in which to lie, placidly, digesting bugs, forage and grain. They just keep doing what they've always done, happy to do it, and blissfully ignorant about the upheaval in our culture.
For an extrovert like me who loves people, who thrives in conversation and communion, this suffocating regulatory climate we're in drives me to the fields, to the millenium feathernet, to the worms beneath the woodpile. I find myself talking to them, enjoying their company, and appreciating that none of them is judging me for not wearing a mask, judging me for how I vote, judging me for how I talk or what illustrations I use. They're as thankful to see me as I am to see them.
Conversing and talking to the animals and plants in our farm universe now offers solace in a time of upheaval. Sometimes I find myself hating humans. What have we done to ourselves? It's unsettling spiritually and emotionally.
Why can't we be more like earthworms?