You know those moments when you are slapped around by the jolting movements of time, your neck aching with heaviness of its own weight and measure? These moments can be so revitalizing when you back against the wall, breathe into the empty pipes of your body, and curl into a good book of words and thoughts. Last night with a quiet spirit for New Year's Day, I sat mesmerized by the words of Wendell Berry, farmer, poet, and novelist. After such rushing through the holidays, a day to sleep until 3pm and then think of nothing but beautiful words put into thoughts was sanctifying to say the least...
From Wendell Berry's The Mad Farmer Poems
Don't worry and fret about the crops. After you have done all you can for them, let them stand in the weather on their own.
If the crop of any one year was all, a man would have to cut his throat every time it hailed.
But the real products of any year's work are the farmer's mind & the crop land itself.
If he raises a good crop at the cost of belittling himself & diminishing the ground, he has gained nothing. He will have to begin over again the next spring, worse off than before.
Let him receive the season's increment into his mind. Let him work it into the soil.
The finest growth that farmland can produce is a careful farmer.
Make the human race a better head. Make the world a better piece of ground.