The Real Dirt on Farmer John...

was surreal to see. Most of the time when I go to the movies I don't see anything close to my world on the screen. But then...there it was. Farming. Maybe a little crazy farming, but real farming just the same.

I have felt a little desperate most of my life. It's not a specific desperateness, just a general feeling that I can't stop working, can't take a break, can't spend money, can't go in debt, can't risk having children until I have the money saved up to care for them. I didn't recognize this feeling earlier but it's becoming clear to me more and more, especially after watching this movie. I remember the year I first becamse aware of time, or more generally, aware of the outside world. It was 1984. All these official looking documents kept appearing in the mail, and the numbers 1,9,8,4 were always on them. It seemed like 1,9,8,4 were everywhere. That's when it hit me--1984 is somehow now. There's something beyond this kitchen with the peeling paper and sinking floor and window you have to hold open with a stick. And in 1984, that world beyond was desperate. Dad was fighting for the farm, against foreclosure. Lots of people were. My dad has lots of stories from those times.

My dad tells the same stories over and over and over. Every time he tells a story, it gets a little grander. He likes to tell a story of when I was out farming with him when I was 2. He left me on the tractor seat while he went to open the bins, and somehow I got the tractor in gear. He looked over and saw the tractor going with me on it and well, he never ran so fast in his life. He vaulted over a board fence so he could catch me. The first time I remember hearing the story from him, the fence was 4 ft tall. Later it became 5 ft. And wouldn't you know it, but these days that fence was 6 ft tall!

So when dad told stories of a particular big, old tree on the edge of the timber in a local man's farm that was perfect for hiding machinery under where government or the bankers wouldn't find it, even by helicopter, I used to think, "And that fence was 6 ft tall." I've been reading more about the 80s in the midwest, though, and I've come across much more sensational stories:

"In Hills, Iowa, a farmer kills his banker, his neighbor, his wife, and then himself...."
"Near Ruthton, Minnesota, a farmer and his son murder two bank officials...."

I read things like this and wonder at all the stories I was hearing that I didn't believe in or that I've maybe purposefully forgotten by now. Watching the Farmer John movie was like hypnotism, like tapping into those bottom layers of the subconscious you just don't want to mess with for fear of what's there.

Of course, it was also very real to me because I've been to that farm and the buildings and the face of Farmer John were familiar. Tim came across the farm's website (www.angelicorganics.com) and when I read about it I wanted to go volunteer there because I wanted to see a farm that worked. When I left Iowa, I left knowing that there was no hope for farming, no hope for Iowa. It was a deep, deep knowing. The first time I thought I might be wrong was when I saw Angelic Organics. And the rest...well, guess I know now what mom meant when she said that farming just doesn't leave your blood.


To learn more about the movie, check out www.therealdirt.net. It's at the Fairfield CoEd through April 13th. There's a show at 7:10 every night.