CSotD: Wise Acres
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Arlo and Janis is in the early stages of an apparently long-term story arc in which Gene and Mary Lou take up farming on land her father owns. I'm particularly intrigued by this development because Jimmy Johnson usually cartoons about (1) middle-age, (2) social fads and (3) boats and the shore, with occasional strips inspired by comicdom's most realistic cat, Ludwig, and, of course, the ongoing romance between the two principals, apparently the only couple in comics who actually couple.
It's a broad niche that gives him a lot of freedom, but it is a niche, nonetheless, and this feels like a whole new topic. Johnson is of an age to remember the "Back to the Land" movement, but, given that his tendencies have always been "Back to the Sea," I'm curious as to whether either of Gene's parents once thought of building a dome and raising goats.
I was not only aware of the movement but seriously considered it. Well, "seriously" in the sense of being a dilettante with nothing more practical in mind for my post-graduate life. I was a married student senior year and we subscribed to Mother Earth News in the days when it was new and still about subsistence, rather than gentleman, farming.
The problem with Mother Earth News was that the stories were all from true believers and began from the point of view that you had unlimited energy and extremely sharp focus, a pair of totally unwarranted assumptions, and also that you didn't need to fret over some of the more off-putting details.
For example, a repeated theme in the magazine was that, no matter what people say, goats don't smell bad. Except when they are in rut. And then, it's not a bad smell, really, and the milk and yoghurt and cheese make it very much worthwhile.
But there was rarely a mention of the fact that, while chickens can lay eggs without the assistance of a rooster, goats must regularly produce offspring before they start producing milk and yoghurt and cheese. And that this will leave you with a moral dilemma, since little goats are rather like puppies, and, no, you can't simply keep them all.
We also had the Rolling Stone "First Time Farmer's Guide," which talked about having groovy eggs and struck such a romantic tone that, ignorant as we were, we knew it wasn't much more than inspiration. So we got a book called "Five Acres and Independence" that scared the hell out of us.
It's not just that farming is a lot of work. We had already figured out that we probably wanted, well, "five acres and semi-independence," a farm near a Source of Other Income. We were ignorant, not stupid. But that practical book not only pointed out the many things you had to do no matter how much you planned to supplement your independence, but brought up some very inconvenient facts.
Like the choice you must make between having livestock and ever, ever leaving the farm for more than about 18 hours. And disposal of the aforementioned goat puppies.
I will be interested to see the extent to which Gene and Mary Lou deal with all this, but our choice was to cherish the memory and do things we could succeed at, instead.
If I had any doubts about all this, by the way, I worked with a fellow from Fort Smith, Arkansas, in the mid-70s who told me this cautionary tale: One of his friends had purchased land in southeastern Kansas with the intention of raising sheep. However, after putting the sheep out on the land, he discovered that they couldn't eat the rough grass that naturally grew there. He was forced to install an expensive irrigation system so the grass would be softer and more delicious and sheep-friendly.
He installed the system and the grass became greener and the sheep ate it and all was well, until one day he noticed that one of the sheep seemed to have a runny nose. Soon after that, several of them had runny noses. Soon after that, they were all dead.
Farmers who hear this story keep looking at me, waiting for me to finish. No, that's the finish. That was it. He went back to Fort Smith, presumably having sent the sheep off to a rendering plant. And sold the land with the nice irrigation system, no doubt at a loss.
Which brings to mind a play I saw at the Abbey Theatre in Dublin in 1965, in which a rich American returns to Ireland to discover her roots, and is staying at a farm of some cousins. She breezes downstairs in the morning just as the farmer is coming in from the barn (dialogue reconstructed from rather old memory):
"Well, the cow has had her calf."
"Really? How wonderful! What are you going to call it?"
"The calf."
And this epilogue: Our decision not to go back to the land did not turn us into urbanites. The marriage lasted another dozen years and, a few years post-split, I left the city and began working in small, rural markets and she remarried, moved and, indeed, achieved a lifestyle that includes a small flock of sheep whose wool she spins and weaves, and some chickens. Fantasies die; dreams don't. But dreams sometimes take considerable time and change in order to achieve substance, and then aren't always quite as you had thought they would look.
Arlo may yet get his boat, and Gene and Mary Lou may find farming right up their alley.
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