There was a lot to laugh at. After all, making fun of young adults is a legitimate sport that offers plenty of excellent targets. And long after they left, we continued to find humor in their manner of leaving. Still, perhaps I should offer some mild applause for their determination, albeit short-lived, to give farming a try.
But before I recount their story, let us roll back the clock to the beginning of last week, when we reached out to a farm volunteer from NYC who was due to arrive this past Wednesday for a weeklong stint. The young biochemistry major had contacted us some time ago through WWOOF (World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms) and had seemed enthused about our host profile and posted expectations.
Come last Sunday, I emailed him a detailed list of projects he would either assist with or complete himself. (Setting down tasks is what I do; it helps me map out the best use of my time and that of the volunteer.) No reply. I texted him, still nothing. Wednesday came and went and no volunteer. We’d been ghosted.
This turned out to be a good thing. Thursday afternoon Cindy received an email from a young couple from Chicago: “We’ve had a problem with our car and will not arrive until around 10 p.m. tonight.” Who? What? WTF! A quick check of the WWOOF site showed a detailed chain of emails from a couple of months back with this same couple. The chain clearly spelled out that they were to arrive on the 5th for a 10-day stay, and that we had agreed to the dates. Thank goodness WWOOFer No. 1 had ghosted us — the tiny apartment we offer to volunteers and other guests would have been a little too cozy for three.
We sprang into action. I hustled to clean the apartment while Cindy laundered the linens. Within a couple of hours, we were ready for WWOOFers No. 2. The apartment itself is in a separate building. It consists of one room and a bath, with no kitchen. The walls are painted; the concrete floor is not. It is equipped with a double bed and dresser, a window AC, and an overhead fan. The place is not rustic (many hosts simply offer space for a tent or a loft in the haybarn in the way of accommodations), but neither is it plush. Everyone who has stayed in it has done so without complaint. Satisfied guests even include the volunteer who, while sitting on the toilet, watched as a black rat snake poked its head out under the vanity doors. (He mentioned it casually, much later, as if he had spotted a beloved pet on the loose.)
Around 10:30 Thursday night the couple from Chicago arrived on the farm. I was outside, waiting by the beehives, to meet and greet. Once I had them situated in their home-away-from-home, having told them I’d see them at breakfast in the morning, I left them to get settled in.
The young man was typical in both build and appearance, dressed casually in T-shirt and jeans. The young woman, on the other hand, had an impossibly neat coif and was smartly dressed. Walking back to the house, I already had misgivings. Ten days of trying to give directions to this city gal was going to be a challenge. Time would tell, I thought. I didn’t yet know just how little time would be needed for their story to unfold.
Friday morning I arose around 5:30 and walked down the driveway to close the gates before letting the dogs out. You know how you can drive by a house and sense that it’s unoccupied, how a vacant house has a vibe different than one where people reside? The apartment had that feel. It was a good hundred yards away, and I could hear the AC still running. In the early morning darkness, I could not see if the car was parked in front of the door. Yet I could sense a change.
Back at the house, coffee in hand, I checked email before sitting down to read a book. A middle of the night missive from the young couple as they began their long trek back to Chicago was in my inbox:
“The accommodations just weren’t what we were expecting. We probably seem like stuck up city dwellers, but we just couldn’t handle the spiders, the slug outside the door, and the cave cricket in the bathroom. The farm is gorgeous, and we regret to inform you of our early departure, but after killing everything, we still just felt too uncomfortable there. Thank you again for considering us for the opportunity. We apologize for the inconveniences we’ve caused. We wish y’all well.”
I can’t help but wonder what they’d have done if they had seen “Reggie” the black rat snake!
Sometimes things do turn out for the best. Ten days of asking the squeamish to squish potato bugs and check for freeloading ticks before sitting down to breakfast, beat back fencerows of briars to earn the right to a lovely dinner, shovel barnfuls of manure before settling in for a good night’s rest — none of it was meant to be if they couldn’t first deal with a cave cricket.
Farming is not for sissies, and we work the volunteers hard. But if one is so disengaged from the natural world as to fear a slug, a spider, and a cave cricket, then best to retreat to the cloistered urban tower. While doing so, though, offer up some prayers that the economy always stays strong, growth is eternal, and others will do the necessary work of interacting for you with the world outside, putting food on your table while you dine in your bug-free condo.
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Reading this week: The Seven Ranges (W. Hoyt) and The Coldest Case (M. Walker). The latter is a weak addition to the Bruno mystery series.
Really hysterical! Reminds me of when I was a kid and we’d all be outside and our Mom would be in the vegetable garden with the ducks all around her because she’d be throwing slugs at them as she worked. This was in Western WA, and back then, 60 years ago, it was still rainy and cool in the summers, so slugs everywhere!! Boy those ducks did love those slugs!!
Sad though, so many people nowadays are just like that couple. When I think of the mess we used to get up to, we used to brag about some things, just to watch city people’s faces! But we were young then.
Ducks and slugs, like a chicken on a June bug, Heather. That disconnect keeps growing. I imagine not many who live in the city get packed off to the family farm for the summer anymore.
Brian,
Every now and then we’ll see plywood cut-outs of farm animals and farmers for sale at craft shows. This is exactly what most people want nowadays, the sanitized version of real life. An insurance salesman once stopped in and in an attempt to ingratiate himself let the dog aggressively lick his face, in spite of me warning him not to. I finally said, “You do realize that less than 10 minutes ago that dog was licking his own butthole?” Are you serious? Yes Sir, I am! To which he turned white and started wretching and coughing. I never did get to discuss insurance with that fellow.
What the lick and what they eat.
What do you reckon that young couple thought “working on a farm” would involve? (Or maybe they are among those who talk about “male cows.” ) Lord have mercy. LOL
We think, Joan, that they imagined it would be some type of free Bed & Breakfast. Adults, of all ages, wildly overestimate their capacity for handling hard work (not to mention cave crickets).
The long-legged and the un-legged being discriminated against.
Reading: John Fante – Full Of Life (a book about the temporarily-insufficiently-legged)
Isn’t that ducky?
I haven’t hear anyone mention John Fante in a long time. There was a resurgence of interest in the 90’s with the reissuing of his work through Black Sparrow Press (same publisher of Bukowski). I had a number of volumes cross my desk at my bookstore. But I never read anything by him…worth the time?
This is the first book of his I’ve ever come across and yes, it most definitely is worth reading (and giving away to prospective labourers, both dudes and birthing persons)!
I can also highly recommend the book I read before the Fante – Os Sertões, Eucildes da Cunha’s account of the birth of a nation.
Another title I’m familiar with but haven’t read.
I had come across it decades ago, in an article about an episode of Peruvian history which the author later turned into ‘The Dancer Upstairs’, and have now read both.
I can recommend all three.
This may we’ll be the best volunteer story yet.
Hang tight, Andy! I’m working to bring you more.
Bowing out of a grave miscalculation doesn’t pose an issue. However, the ethics of either ghosting or sneaking off in the middle of the night with a follow-up, tone-deaf, e-mal explanation is quite another thing. Admittedly, no crimes were committed, but allowing oneself the possibility of ether approach simply boggles the mind. Turning the ordeal into a humorous blog post is better than my reproachful reflex.
And, I was half expecting an enthusiastic Trip Advisor review from someone who has stayed at the WEF Travel Lodge. But, thanks. As we both know, not all Chicago natives are alike.
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