Somebody very innocently asked me the other day how work was for me. And I glibly responded "Just a normal day...some child sexual abuse, a dead baby, parent / teen conflicts, drug addicted parents, and a little domestic violence". The person asking was shocked - his response "Oh my god, how do you stand it?"
How do I? Stand it, I mean. I'm not sure. It's a day in the life of a child protection worker, and we just stand what we have to stand. I easily forget that what is completely shocking and appalling to some people is everyday life for me. Every day that I go to work, I hear some of the worst stories that are possible to hear. They're sad and painful and gross and simply horrible. And I've normalized them.
It's time to leave, soon. Time to leave this job. When I first started working in child protection (it's been about 12 years at the time of writing), I prided myself in my ability to hold strong boundaries. When I left work at the end of the day, for the most part, I left work. That is, I was able to put the stories behind me and go home to my own family, my own life, my own story.
Over the past couple of years, though, I'm having a harder time walking away from the stories in other people's lives. I experience greater emotion when I hear the stories. My eyes fill with tears at someone's sad story; I worry more about the kids that are wandering the streets; I fear more for my own safety. I wonder if I'm becoming burned out. A good friend suggested that most people, when they become burned out, stop having empathy...they stop caring. I'm having the opposite experience - I'm feeling more and more.
My spiritual path, over the past few years has been about opening my heart wider and wider. My meditations involve opening my heart; my interactions in my private life are about opening my heart. My prayers are about having an open heart. And to be a good child protection worker, I think it's important to be able to put a wall around my heart.
It seems that my daily practice has created a barrier to the healthy completion of my job.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Growing up in a Farm Family
When I was six years old, my family moved to the Family Farm. We'd been living in Slave Lake at the time, and my dad was working as a truck driver. My mom was a traditional stay at home mom. We moved during the Easter holidays. My sister was seven years old and my brother was five. My other brother was still a baby.
The farm was where my dad had spent his growing up years. The land was offered to my grandparents when my grandpa returned from WWII as part of the Veteran's Assistance program. Veterans were offered homesteading land at bargain basement prices so that they could re-establish their lives. My grandpa never wanted to farm - he was a cowboy not a farmer (there's a difference, you know). He told me once that if he could have been a career soldier he might have chosen that path. But he returned from the war like many men in that era - damaged and silent. And my grandmother did what the majority of women did in those days - she stood by her man and followed him where ever he went.
I don't actually know how it came to pass that my parents decided to start farming with my grandparents. I only know that my grandparents moved out of the house that they'd lived in and moved into an older, smaller one in the yard. And we moved into their house.
My parents weren't dissimilar to my grandparents. They both loved (love) the land and the rural life. They grew up within miles of each other, met, and fell in love at a young age. They married very young; they had kids very young. And they farmed and ranched. My dad was, and continues to be, happiest when he was riding the land on his horse. My mom was, and continues to be, happiest when she was around her family. Both of my parents dedicated their lives to the raising of a rural family with rural values and rural love.
I'm thinking about this today because I've had a couple of friends challenge some ranching methods. It's right to challenge the way things "have always been done". Except that they aren't the way they've always been done. I was thinking about why I was feeling defensive with their questions/comments. And I realize that I'm experiencing some of the same foreboding that my parents are experiencing. It's the risk of the loss of the family farm. Not the loss of the land, so much, as the loss of the lifestyle.
Agribusiness is taking over farming and the cattle ranching business. I know that my parents have been and continue to be ethical cattle ranchers. When you buy beef from my family you know what you're getting, unlike when you buy beef from your local grocery store. When calves are born in the spring, my dad is out walking through the herds, talking to the cows and watching to see how they're doing. He's up every couple of hours in the night to monitor. When he's too tired, my mom goes with him. If it's cold, they make sure that the calves are born in a warm, sheltered place. They know each cow and calf in their operation.
When I was a little girl, during calving season it wasn't unusual to have a new born calf brought into the house. One that had been born during a cold snap and needed to be warmed. We would put the hair dryers on them, and rub them with rags to try to warm them and get their blood circulating. If a cow rejected her calf, the calf would be nurtured and bottle fed until it could find an adoptive mother (usually one whose calf died).
Every spring it was time to move the cattle to pasture. The cows that remained with our family for several years would remember the process. As the weather warmed, and the grass started to green, the cows would start searching the fence lines for a way out. When it's time to make the move, there has to be a process. This involved and continues to involve vaccinating the calves (in the same ways that human babies are vaccinated), castrating the bull calves (this is what the beef industry wants), and branding and tagging. Now, my parents no longer brand the calves. They put a numbered ear tag on them (like getting your ears pierced). Castration no longer involves cutting the calves but putting a rubber band around their testicles to stop the blood supply. The testicles dry up and that's the end of it.
The cows know that it's time to move, and they become very excited.This year, when they saw the horses being saddled up, they began to beller and gather themselves together in anticipation. The cowboys who get to participate in the cattle drive also get excited. The horses love it; the dogs love it; the cattle love it; and the people love it. The cattle spend the summer wandering freely around hundreds of acres of grass land, watered by creeks and the river.
In the fall, the cows are ready to come home. At the time that the grass is no longer growing the cattle are brought home. Here they spend the winter on a couple of hundred acres of farm land, being fed hay throughout the winter. They're offered shelter from the elements and closely watched over. Before winter, most of the calves are weaned and sent to market. Often they leave this truly wonderful life behind and go to a feedlot for fattening. This is what the market requires. The feedlots are owned usually by Agribusiness.
The family farm is a dying breed. With Agri-business taking over increasing portions of the market share; with American embargoes on beef imports that have very little to do with health concerns and a great deal to do with controlling the market, the business of the small family farm is becoming increasingly less viable. Over the past 50 years, most cattle farmers have had to support their operations by having one or both partners working off the farm, at least for part of the year. For most of my childhood, my dad went away in the winters to work on the oil rigs, leaving my mom to look after their five children, and all of the cows and animals. She also had a job in town for a good portion of those years. It was no easy life.
And yet they continue. With no guarantee that any of their children will take over the operation when they retire, the shadow of the end is hanging on the horizon. Without the family farm, those that eat beef are left with few choices. Of course, there's always the feedlot beef - you know, with the fear of hormones and chemically coated foods.
I'm really proud of the way I grew up; it was no easy life but it's a life that produced five other families of people with strong values, morals, and concern for their communities. It's five other families of people that argue against the impinging Agribusinesses and the chemicals used to grow our food. It's five families that believe that there's more to life than making money - there's stewardship of the land and of our children.
The farm was where my dad had spent his growing up years. The land was offered to my grandparents when my grandpa returned from WWII as part of the Veteran's Assistance program. Veterans were offered homesteading land at bargain basement prices so that they could re-establish their lives. My grandpa never wanted to farm - he was a cowboy not a farmer (there's a difference, you know). He told me once that if he could have been a career soldier he might have chosen that path. But he returned from the war like many men in that era - damaged and silent. And my grandmother did what the majority of women did in those days - she stood by her man and followed him where ever he went.
I don't actually know how it came to pass that my parents decided to start farming with my grandparents. I only know that my grandparents moved out of the house that they'd lived in and moved into an older, smaller one in the yard. And we moved into their house.
My parents weren't dissimilar to my grandparents. They both loved (love) the land and the rural life. They grew up within miles of each other, met, and fell in love at a young age. They married very young; they had kids very young. And they farmed and ranched. My dad was, and continues to be, happiest when he was riding the land on his horse. My mom was, and continues to be, happiest when she was around her family. Both of my parents dedicated their lives to the raising of a rural family with rural values and rural love.
I'm thinking about this today because I've had a couple of friends challenge some ranching methods. It's right to challenge the way things "have always been done". Except that they aren't the way they've always been done. I was thinking about why I was feeling defensive with their questions/comments. And I realize that I'm experiencing some of the same foreboding that my parents are experiencing. It's the risk of the loss of the family farm. Not the loss of the land, so much, as the loss of the lifestyle.
Agribusiness is taking over farming and the cattle ranching business. I know that my parents have been and continue to be ethical cattle ranchers. When you buy beef from my family you know what you're getting, unlike when you buy beef from your local grocery store. When calves are born in the spring, my dad is out walking through the herds, talking to the cows and watching to see how they're doing. He's up every couple of hours in the night to monitor. When he's too tired, my mom goes with him. If it's cold, they make sure that the calves are born in a warm, sheltered place. They know each cow and calf in their operation.
When I was a little girl, during calving season it wasn't unusual to have a new born calf brought into the house. One that had been born during a cold snap and needed to be warmed. We would put the hair dryers on them, and rub them with rags to try to warm them and get their blood circulating. If a cow rejected her calf, the calf would be nurtured and bottle fed until it could find an adoptive mother (usually one whose calf died).
Every spring it was time to move the cattle to pasture. The cows that remained with our family for several years would remember the process. As the weather warmed, and the grass started to green, the cows would start searching the fence lines for a way out. When it's time to make the move, there has to be a process. This involved and continues to involve vaccinating the calves (in the same ways that human babies are vaccinated), castrating the bull calves (this is what the beef industry wants), and branding and tagging. Now, my parents no longer brand the calves. They put a numbered ear tag on them (like getting your ears pierced). Castration no longer involves cutting the calves but putting a rubber band around their testicles to stop the blood supply. The testicles dry up and that's the end of it.
The cows know that it's time to move, and they become very excited.This year, when they saw the horses being saddled up, they began to beller and gather themselves together in anticipation. The cowboys who get to participate in the cattle drive also get excited. The horses love it; the dogs love it; the cattle love it; and the people love it. The cattle spend the summer wandering freely around hundreds of acres of grass land, watered by creeks and the river.
In the fall, the cows are ready to come home. At the time that the grass is no longer growing the cattle are brought home. Here they spend the winter on a couple of hundred acres of farm land, being fed hay throughout the winter. They're offered shelter from the elements and closely watched over. Before winter, most of the calves are weaned and sent to market. Often they leave this truly wonderful life behind and go to a feedlot for fattening. This is what the market requires. The feedlots are owned usually by Agribusiness.
The family farm is a dying breed. With Agri-business taking over increasing portions of the market share; with American embargoes on beef imports that have very little to do with health concerns and a great deal to do with controlling the market, the business of the small family farm is becoming increasingly less viable. Over the past 50 years, most cattle farmers have had to support their operations by having one or both partners working off the farm, at least for part of the year. For most of my childhood, my dad went away in the winters to work on the oil rigs, leaving my mom to look after their five children, and all of the cows and animals. She also had a job in town for a good portion of those years. It was no easy life.
And yet they continue. With no guarantee that any of their children will take over the operation when they retire, the shadow of the end is hanging on the horizon. Without the family farm, those that eat beef are left with few choices. Of course, there's always the feedlot beef - you know, with the fear of hormones and chemically coated foods.
I'm really proud of the way I grew up; it was no easy life but it's a life that produced five other families of people with strong values, morals, and concern for their communities. It's five other families of people that argue against the impinging Agribusinesses and the chemicals used to grow our food. It's five families that believe that there's more to life than making money - there's stewardship of the land and of our children.
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