The Unsettling of America

A book review by Howard Yoder

Did your grandparents grow up on a farm? Will your grandchildren? The Unsettling of America is not a new book. It was written in the 1970s by Wendell Berry, who lives and works on a farm in southeastern Kentucky which his family has owned for generations. Berry was (and still is) concerned about the disappearance of the family farm, the disconnectedness of American society from its agricultural roots, and the difficulties which face the small farmer. Many of us in Conservative Mennonite Conference have agricultural backgrounds and can still identify with his concerns, particularly the effect of the decline of farming on our families and society. In this review, Howard Yoder, who farms about five hundred acres in central Ohio, evaluates the practicality and accuracy of Berry's visionary agricultural perspective. -Editor

In The Unsettling of America, Wendell Berry critiques American agriculture in a manner that many North American farmers would find unsettling. Modern agriculture, Berry contends, is thoroughly separated from the land, its care and health, its time-honored cultivation methods, and its dynamic natural processes. Instead, the interests of agribusiness corporations, policy experts and land-grant universities have managed to create their own parallel and competing culture that is removed from a healthy stewardship of land. In this artificial environment, salesmanship is supremely rewarded. All issues are slave to short term interests, market analysis, and time management. Berry passionately calls for a return to stewardship and nurture of creation.

I found myself almost wincing as I read what seems like a painfully accurate description of a corrupted system in which I participate.

People and Land

The broad theme that struck me in The Unsettling of America was the issue of people and their relationship to the land. More narrowly, perhaps, one could raise the question of mutual nurture within the land-people framework.

A phenomenon that we are experiencing in North America is the loss of agriculture-related professions. Concerned people, like Berry, should decry the ongoing loss. (Time magazine, November 24, 2003, projects a loss of 328,000 agriculture-related jobs during the current decade, 2000-2010.) Put simply, technology, which was touted for its benefits after the industrial revolution, has replaced and continues to replace people. Environmental circles tend to focus on this vein, promoting the idea that the earth is primarily a terrarium that we should merely observe from wherever we happen to be. People are removed from the picture window landscape, as though removing people will benefit the land. Strategies for removal of rural dwellers were and still are elaborate, accomplished in the name of "protection." Berry does acknowledge the need for "places that we do not use", though his overwhelming concern is for proper use of the land by people. That human survival is dependent on the connection with land and food is clear. Conversely, for me, one of the most riveting comments in the entire book was this excerpt from a letter to the author "?I don't care about the landscape if I am to be excluded from it." Whatever the adverse effects of people on the creation, and there are many, Berry makes a strong case for the presence of people in rural areas of North America.

Alternatives

Not surprisingly, any serious critique of orthodox American agriculture draws upon alternative Amish farming practices. Berry does not hide his admiration for the Amish culture and its exemplary farming practices, devoting eight pages in his book to that subject. He says, "Outside the Amish communities, I do not know where in American agriculture one can find people and land in healthy balance." By voluntarily and intentionally exercising restraint, Amish societies create interdependence which manifests itself in strong communal working relationships. Amish farms are small. Landowners live on their farms. Human labor is maximized. Organic waste is generated and returned to the soil. Draft power sets them apart from orthodox farming practices. Multiple cropping systems and diversification characterize this system. Berry is making the point that by being thoroughly deliberate, alternatives to orthodoxy are not only possible, but also desirable by most measurable standards.

Now, nearly thirty years after the writing of The Unsettling of America, I am struck by a great irony. I am hearing many reports that sustainable "alternative" agriculture as practiced in Amish communities is giving ground to cottage industries as a source of livelihood among young Amish families. Can "alternative" agriculture be sustained only if divorced from the economics of farming? I cannot point to any statistics to support that position, but I often ponder the question.

Dilemmas I Face

While I am not ready to abandon orthodox farming practices, I am intrigued with the benefits offered within the "alternative" framework. The following are some of the dilemmas I face in my farming operation. Some result from this tension between orthodox and alternative; some are unrelated to the tension.

• Off-the-Farm Employment

  I am thankful for the occasional, wintertime employment off the farm. However, my deepest instincts call me to stay on the farm year-round. Its care and cultivation should consume my creative energies. I enjoy the farming context for regular interaction with my family. On the other hand, can I generate enough income from the farm to keep it economically viable?

• Determinism

  My farming operation took off where the previous generation stopped. My dad was married to orthodoxy, by and large, though his earliest days on the farm were spent in the context of the Amish alternative. The nearly seamless and easiest transition possible was my purchase of his equipment and my adoption of his approach to farming. The eight generations in North America before me also followed with successors. With myriad choices at their fingertips, will my three children choose to be tillers of the soil? That I may be followed with heirs but no successors is a distinct possibility. How can I draw my children into farming?

• Inherent Dangers

  That a profession whose primary aim is to sustain life should be the second most dangerous occupation in the United States is an irony which I cope with season in, season out. Unquestionably, safety occupies a space that no other issue begins to approach. How can I enhance our family's safety on the farm?

• Chemical Use

  Several years ago my wife and I determined that production of food for direct human consumption was a direction in which we wanted to move our grain farming operation. We started raising a smattering of steers, sheep and chickens. We planted an orchard of 75 fruit trees. We began producing sweet corn and continue to expand that aspect of our farming operation (ten acres this year). The dilemma I face is that with the expanded acreage dedicated to human consumption, I now am personally exposed to higher volumes of chemicals. I use insecticides on both my orchard and my sweet corn field to satisfy the need for marketable produce. I often wonder whether spraying creates a need for perfect produce or simply responds to the demand. Could I grow produce for people without using chemicals?

To address some of the issues I face, I have been trying to introduce one item into my operation each year which moves in the direction of nurture/care of creation. This year for the first time, I plan to plant all of my soybeans under a no-till system. I plan to establish grass buffer zones along a waterway on our farm. We are in the process of installing additional drain tile. We are experimenting with reduced herbicide rates. We are maintaining treed fence rows. Several years ago we removed a parcel of land from our fenced pasture/cattle grazing area where we continue to plant a variety of hardwood trees and wildlife-attracting vegetation. Last year we erected nesting boxes to promote nesting of native bluebirds. While our farm pales in comparison to a "true" alternative, we are enjoying the opportunities to make incremental changes along the way. Berry would not be impressed, I am sure, but at least one of his readers is a little less unsettled.

Howard Yoder lives near Plain City, Ohio, with his wife Louise and their three children. They attend Shiloh Mennonite Church.

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