The Zen of Walnut Harvesting

Here on our little farm, all of us homo-sapiens are physically worn out.

It's walnut harvest time. For the next four to five weeks, we will be constatntly moaning about how our muscles ache and how tired we are.

Harvesting walnuts by hand, is an exercise in futility to some. To me it's an exercise in Zen meditation. You're performing hours of exhausting physical work each day, yet you will not be "rewarded" with adequate financial/material compensation.

My nineteen-year-old son thinks the trees should be cut down. "What's the point?" he asks. "You don't make any money."

And yes, I do ask myself that same question during the first half-hour of nut harvesting each day -- after I've mustered the energy from who-knows-what-internal-resevoir to trudge out to the dew-soaked nut grove, pushing the wheelbarrow filled with crates and a large bottle of Badoir, to initiate my first squat to pick up nuts. After all, I've got better things to do: finish my best-selling novel, start on my blockbuster business proposal, make my fortune trading options, paint one of highly sought after moutons masterpieces, hem the new curtains, or clean out the chicken coop.

It has been very difficult for me to explain to my son the joyous myriad of emotional, spiritual, and health benefits that accrue to one while harvesting walnuts.

He just doesn't buy it.

A thin teen-ager doesn't need the relentless physical exertion to firm up anything on his body.
A music obsessed rocker doesn't want to spend his days in silence.
A stylish dresser wants to earn decent wages to buy clothing.
A popular stud wants to hang around other teenagers . . .not sheep.

I really enjoy being in the nut grove with my trusty flea-transporting dog at my side, the sheep grazing peacefully nearby, and the birds serenading me from the trees. After an hour or so of internal grumbling, I develop a rhythm of bending and squatting that gets my heart racing, burns calories, and firms my derriere. I have friends who pay big money for such an experience.
In the nut grove, I'm alone in solitude, except for the occassional gasoline-powered tool that a neighbor revs up, with only my thoughts.

To be alone with only my thoughts, is a very rare state in which to find myself. Yes, if I'm writing or studying stock charts, I'm alone with my thoughts, but they're very directed thoughts. To be alone for hours with un-directed, random thoughts is a scary proposition. I would venture to say that most people in modern society are frightened to be alone. That's the reason televisions and radios are always blaring. That's the reason Musak was developed. People just don't want to be alone with their thoughts.

I have to admit that throughout the first autumns of walnut havesting, I just couldn't "quiet" my mind. The same ridiculous thoughts would race back and forth in my mind for hours. I finally took to humming to get rid of a useless thought that just wouldn't go away; or I'd stop to talk to the sheep (I didn't have a dog before) to try and direct my mind to a new area of introspection.

Slowly, year after year, the farm has taught me to prefer being in silence. I no longer play the radio while I'm in the kitchen, or anywhere in the house. When I'm alone, I move about in silence. In the car, I'll sometimes play the radio or CD, but it's no longer habitual, it's usually to keep me awake when I get tired.

And this harvest, I've noticed that my mind has "quieted" . . .I've finally reached that Zen state where I can control my thoughts. If I don't want to think about something, I no longer have to hum or talk to an animal, I can switch thoughts. I've stopped the mind chatter.

So what? One might ask. What's the benefit in finding enjoyment in silence?

If you can get to the point where you find enjoyment in just being alone, you've come to the point where you live contentedly in the present moment: you are not living in the past and you are not living in the future. This is the peaceful point where meditation is supposed to lead.

I believe that the last year I was capable of living solely in the present was 1967. I was nine-years-old. Since that year, I've been swept along in a world not of my making. It took me thirty-eight-years to fight my way back to my natural, blissful state.

Well, gotta go pick more nuts.