I think this belongs here. I buy from a small farm upstate -- all organic, heritage breeds, etc. -- and they send a weekly newsletter. In today's newsletter, the following segment appeared:
Some of you may have read South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford's emails last week for the salacious content. We, of course, read them for what they have to say about modern agriculture.
We are all familiar with American Gothic, but Governor Sanford, in one of his e-mails to his lady in Argentina sent last July, inadvertently defines what we might call "Modern American Bucolic". He wrote:
"Got back an hour ago to civilization and am now in Columbia after what was for me a glorious break from reality down at the farm. No phones ringing and tangible evidence of a day's labors. Though I have started every day by 6, this morning woke at 4:30, I guess since my body knew it was the last day, and I went out and ran the excavator with lights until the sun came up."
That his farm experience consists of running an excavator says something about him and possibly about what we have come to see as farming in today's industrialized America. It all sounds much like George W. Bushs favorite ranch experience "clearing brush". Clearing brush for what? Excavating for what? But it gets better. Sanford continues:
"To me, and I suspect no one else on earth, there is something wonderful about listening to country music playing in the cab, air conditioner running, the hum of a huge diesel engine in the back ground, the tranquility that comes with being in a virtual wilderness of trees and marsh, the day breaking and vibrant pink coming alive in the morning clouds - and getting to build something with each scoop of dirt."
Country music playing, air conditioner running, the hum of a huge diesel engine and... "tranquility"! How, one wonders, does tranquility break through this din? How on earth, one might ask, is he alive to the dawning of the morning light, driving as he is with his headlights on? It reads to me like a modern advertising script selling big vehicles with all the accoutrements by invoking imagery from once authentic Romantic ideals. Undoubtedly faux country music (heard, no doubt, through headphones), windows rolled up (to keep in the air conditioning), manicured hands on the steering wheel of a big roaring excavator. But somewhere in his trendy head the faint intimation, a vague sense, that one should, when in a landscape of "trees and marsh",
experience the tranquility of nature.