I was most struck by how very deliberate and ordered David Kline’s life appears to be. I am far from accustomed to farm life, I kind of just figured it was messy and left it at that. I’d actually been slightly embarrassed to realize how little I knew of farming and raising livestock, let alone the Amish lifestyle, despite living in such close proximity. But I was pleased to see that David Kline’s explanations of how his farm works in person were very familiar for their similarity to the ones he used in his book. I’d been taken by how careful and specific the descriptions of farm life were, dotted with curious rules passed down like a kind of gospel born of experience. Do not tap trees below a specific measurement, trees may only ever have up to four taps. Cows milk for about nine or ten months of the year, and hens produce eggs about six months of being born. This seasonal living is so foreign to what I’m familiar with, but I can see that there’s satisfaction in such living by such rules. There’s calm in the order of it all.
I was also surprised by how specific everything was. Despite the tendency of urban portrayals to the contrary, life on a farm requires a massive amount of careful calculation and measurement. The amount of everything produced must be carefully considered and weighed against what is sold at what price, and what is kept. The woodwork in his home was very interesting and well done as well, and it was strange to think his family had taken the measurements and built it by themselves. I’ve done enough woodworking to know how much care it can take. Rural life requires a self-sufficiency unthought of in the city, and it’s strange, but I can see the appeal.
Additionally, I was very startled by the sudden offer of a kitten. They were everywhere and very charming; one the size of my palm stood on my boots and mewed plaintively for attention, purring with all the power in its tiny soft body. I wonder if David Kline would mind an encore visit so that I might secure a kitten for my own.
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