Reading back thru my journal, it’s amazing how often I run into the word “control.” A shrink once told me I had was a control freak, and I immediately & thoroughly dismissed the notion.
Control freaks are the Felixes of the world, right? Who always have a brand-new kleenex & an immaculately clean house. They iron their jeans and possibly their underwear, too. Count me out, right there.
But again and again, I’m confronted with my own words: I’ve got to get in control of the weeding. If I could just get the laundry under control… The kitchen is out of control…
And what I’m finding is that probably life, but most definitely farming, is completely uncontrollable. (more…)