A Little Farm in Florida

I arrived at Back To Earth Organic Farm on Monday, a day after turning eighteen. It had been an unforgettable week driving down the east coast, but I soon discovered that settling at the farm meant a complete change of pace in my life. I met Kirk, the owner of the farm, whom I’ll speak about later; received a tour his small property; and was told, “Have a good night, the work starts tomorrow.”

I have a hard time recalling any point in my life when I felt alone. Upset? Sure. Confused? Yup. Frustrated? Of course. Homesick? Definitely. But alone—truly alone? There were moments during my first few days at the farm when I felt more alone than ever before. Knowing that I couldn’t see a familiar face without driving across the state of Florida scared me, and there were times when I considered packing up my stuff and hitting the road. Then I realized that this was the real world. I planned this year so that I could have all types of experiences. Maybe it was the fact that my time in Germany so greatly exceeded my expectations, but I was not prepared for the culture shock of arriving at the farm. I felt like I had gone to a different side of the world. I knew I was well equipped, but for the first few days, loneliness got the best of me. Slowly, my thoughts turned from “I have to get out of here” to “Let’s just get through a few hours of work so I can go play golf” to “Two weeks here will seem like nothing once it’s all over.”  

I will save details about the farm, how Kirk operates, and my duties as a WWOOFer (WWOOF stands for World-Wide Opportunities for Organic Farmers) until next week, because I still have so much to learn about the place. But here’s my best attempt at generalization: the small property looks like it was chewed up, recycled, and then thrown in the middle of the jungle. Going back to the culture shock, I struggled to see how it could be considered a home, a farm, or both. When I think of a farm, I picture a big barn, a large country farmhouse, acres of open fields, and the smell of freshly mown hay. I don’t imagine an overgrown patchwork of sandy garden beds or hear the sounds of freight trains and airplanes. But for all intensive purposes, the latter is my farm and my home right now.

I like to think of myself as independent, confident, and mostly self-sufficient. Up until this point, I’ve always had someone there to provide meals, do my laundry, and make sure I’m healthy and happy. I went grocery shopping on my second day. Before, my “groceries” were whatever snack food I needed. But as I drove to the Winn Dixie a few miles from the farm, I started to make a list in my head. Water; orange juice; chocolate milk; Greek yogurt; bananas; eggs; Honey Bunches of Oats. Those were the things that were always there for me when I walked in the door, and buying them for myself felt strange. Is this what being eighteen is all about?

Marcus and his dog Taylor

And then there was laundry. I passed by the machine twenty times a day, but if it wasn’t for a twelve-year-old kid named Marcus, I probably still wouldn’t have gone near it. Here’s my story about Marcus: I got back from a late afternoon round of golf on Thursday, and as I pulled in, my headlights flashed over Marcus coming out the front door. His family rents part of the doublewide trailer, and they live just about as simple as anyone can. I parked the car and started to walk towards my bunk house, but Marcus stopped me. (By the way, he’s in sixth grade, but he can’t be more than 4’8”—with a voice as high as any kindergartener’s). “Can you help me hang my laundry,” Marcus asked me? “I can’t reach the clothesline. That was when it hit me that if a twelve-year-old is hanging his own laundry on a clothesline he can’t reach, then I could at least attempt to wash my socks and underwear. I went with Marcus to the machine and helped him dig the clothes out of the bottom—he couldn’t really reach those either. Then we walked the basket over to the line, and as I pulled down, he hung his wet clothes, just the way his mom liked them to be. The next day, I gathered up my dirty laundry, washed everything, hung it up to dry, and even folded it all before returning each item to my duffel bag.

It's been a challenging first week, and though my emotions have fluctuated around in circles since I arrived, it hasn't been without a lot of fun. I've had plenty of time to explore, which is something I've learned to do really well. New Smyrna Beach is a town with more than enough to keep me interested. From golf courses to the nearby sports complex where I run to miles of beaches, I'm glad I chose this place to settle down. I'll write a whole blogpost about the town once I get to know it more, and I feel by that time, I'll be packing up my things and preparing to move on. For now, I have a Super Bowl Sunday with my grandparents in Dunedin to look forward to--a two day break from the farm that at the very least seems well deserved. Though we all wish the Patriots were still in the running, I'm excited to see the game and to see my grandparents. Should be fun!

Sunset on the beach