by Karrin Pearson
Howell Farm Intern
Howell Farm is a place to stroll with children and observe animals grazing in the pasture, working in the field, or playing in their pens. It’s a place to connect with our food sources, our environment, and something I see as deeply human: Wildness.
This wildness refers not to crazy or uncontrollable behavior but rather to the natural state of things. Wildness lives in our uninhibited or childish ways, in the times when we maintain no boundaries between ourselves and the basic elements of life. When viewed in this light, the farm becomes an even more important place in modern society. For as Thoreau said, “In wildness is the preservation of the world.” The farm lives history but it also safeguards our future.
Wildness flourishes in every corner here. From the fields of spelt and the babbling brook, to the sugar bush and the early morning rain, its voice whirls through the air. This wildness is easy for us to see; the wheat blows in the breeze, waves ripple in the current, and twisting vines curl themselves tightly around the trees.
These entities act as they naturally do, without thought to any other way of being. Still, it is rather difficult for us to recognize our own inherent wildness in a blade of grass or a splashing wave. It becomes more apparent when we watch the farm animals.
Our farm animals are not considered wild, in the general understanding of the word. They live in man-made structures, and they are trained, fed, and groomed by our farmers. However, that's not to say that they don't have personalities or desires and wishes of their own, just like us. In fact, each animal's way of being reflects upon their own innate wildness. They can only be themselves, nothing else. Blaze, our 31-year old horse, is wild when he shuffles slowly through the grass with bowed head. So too are the goslings when they run forward with flapping wings, or the oxen as they stand still and chew their cud.
When the school children come to learn about farm animals, they are often alarmed that Blaze goes to the bathroom. Giggles erupt and fingers point as the steady stream hits the ground with a rush. But when I ask the young students if they too go to the bathroom, their laughter subsides as they realize Blaze does many of the same things they do. In the horse barn I draw further parallels between horse stalls and bedrooms, sweet feed and honey nut cheerios, and horseshoes and our shoes. When asked if they'd like to live in Barney's stall, the students’ voices resound with "NO!" Yet their grins and eyes widen when I tell them to come in Barney's stall and see what it's like. Their feet stomp and their voices say "nay."
The children enjoy learning how horses are like us. We all should too. For by recognizing our similarities, we can more clearly see them and ourselves as we truly are – innately wild.
Howell Farm Intern
Howell Farm is a place to stroll with children and observe animals grazing in the pasture, working in the field, or playing in their pens. It’s a place to connect with our food sources, our environment, and something I see as deeply human: Wildness.
This wildness refers not to crazy or uncontrollable behavior but rather to the natural state of things. Wildness lives in our uninhibited or childish ways, in the times when we maintain no boundaries between ourselves and the basic elements of life. When viewed in this light, the farm becomes an even more important place in modern society. For as Thoreau said, “In wildness is the preservation of the world.” The farm lives history but it also safeguards our future.
Wildness flourishes in every corner here. From the fields of spelt and the babbling brook, to the sugar bush and the early morning rain, its voice whirls through the air. This wildness is easy for us to see; the wheat blows in the breeze, waves ripple in the current, and twisting vines curl themselves tightly around the trees.
These entities act as they naturally do, without thought to any other way of being. Still, it is rather difficult for us to recognize our own inherent wildness in a blade of grass or a splashing wave. It becomes more apparent when we watch the farm animals.
Our farm animals are not considered wild, in the general understanding of the word. They live in man-made structures, and they are trained, fed, and groomed by our farmers. However, that's not to say that they don't have personalities or desires and wishes of their own, just like us. In fact, each animal's way of being reflects upon their own innate wildness. They can only be themselves, nothing else. Blaze, our 31-year old horse, is wild when he shuffles slowly through the grass with bowed head. So too are the goslings when they run forward with flapping wings, or the oxen as they stand still and chew their cud.
When the school children come to learn about farm animals, they are often alarmed that Blaze goes to the bathroom. Giggles erupt and fingers point as the steady stream hits the ground with a rush. But when I ask the young students if they too go to the bathroom, their laughter subsides as they realize Blaze does many of the same things they do. In the horse barn I draw further parallels between horse stalls and bedrooms, sweet feed and honey nut cheerios, and horseshoes and our shoes. When asked if they'd like to live in Barney's stall, the students’ voices resound with "NO!" Yet their grins and eyes widen when I tell them to come in Barney's stall and see what it's like. Their feet stomp and their voices say "nay."
The children enjoy learning how horses are like us. We all should too. For by recognizing our similarities, we can more clearly see them and ourselves as we truly are – innately wild.
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