Death & Farming

It may be thought that being close to death, and experiencing it multiple times throughout the year, makes us callous to its sting. That we should avoid encounters with death at all cost, that certainly is the stance most moderns take. We do whatever we can to avoid death; rather than dying at home in beds surrounded by family, the hospital bed or nursing home is where death most often takes place now. Death is seemingly more distant than it has ever been. In theory, that should mean that when it is encountered, it is more visceral than if we saw it more often. 

I, however, do not think this is the case. I think that we have put such a chasm between those living and those dying, that we are numb to it. Sure we feel sadness if a loved one passes, or sympathy for a coworker when they do, but because of its now sterile place in the world, it is distant and almost otherworldly. The whole experience of death is so far removed from our lives that even when it is our loved one, we don’t come to surround them as the end draws near in their homes as we once did. We instead might stop by a fluorescent light drenched hospital bed, if we can find the time away from work, if it’s our parents or (maybe) grandparents. But with the foreign, unsympathetic nature of that environment it is surreal. We go into a state of shock almost, where we can quickly separate death’s sting from our daily memory. 

Though this is normal for modern man, it would be far from normal for the majority of humans across time. And death is not something the farmer can keep such a distance from. As much as we might wish to keep a distance, death comes on the farm whether we like it or not. Accidents happen, sickness quickly takes over an animal, a predator rushes in and kills what it can, death is inevitable on the farm. 

You may think that leaves the farmer far more callous than the rest of humanity. Since death occurs far more regularly, it must be easy to grow used to it. Caretaking becomes something done more out of necessity than out of heartfelt nurturing. 

Before continuing, I am not equating the death of a chicken, lamb, cow, or even a loyal dog to the death of a fellow man. To do so is not only disingenuous, it is absurd. I am only acknowledging that even the death of an animal is rare for the modern man. Maybe occurring once a decade or less, and at that, in a sterile vet clinic far removed from the beloved pet’s home. 

On a farm, when an emergency happens that ends in death, or death is clearly coming, there is nowhere to escape it. You not only have to feel the bitter sting of death, you have an inescapable guilt of failing to fulfill your duty to keep that animal alive, you may be desperately confused as no clear indication of what went wrong (or how it did), you may even be the one required to deal the death blow to end a wounded animals suffering, after all of those things, you and you alone are responsible for the steps after death. Death is inescapable. You can not just leave the room and hope those previously mentioned feelings fade away, you must then clean the stains of death from the barnyard. You must decide what is to be done with the body, and then do so. No one else plays a role. 

It is often remarked that the animal that will be the first to die on the farm, is your most beloved. From my experience, time and time again, that holds true. My favorite chicken was the first to be killed by a hawk, my favorite lamb stepped in a small hole and broke his neck, the cow I raised and rotated daily bloated and died overnight without explanation, and the first sheep I milked and cherished received a deathly wound from the tip of a cow’s horn and I had to end her suffering. 

None of those deaths felt any better because I had experienced the death of another. Each was in fact more pungent and heart wrenching. Each had waves of grief and guilt. Exposure to death did not make me numb to it. Yet before choosing to be a farmer for romantic reasons, death always seemed distant and something to be avoided. Yes, death happens, I figured, so how can I avoid it as much as I possibly can? I even refused to go to a loved one’s funeral because I didn’t want my memory of her to be tainted by her death. As if that makes her death any less real. 

I think death is meant to be felt, it is meant to be visceral. We are not to avoid it, or be surprised by its occurrence as if we never knew anything could die. The Bible does not gloss over the details of Christ’s execution. It is important to understand his humiliation and the pain and anguish of his death. Death loses its reality if it is easily dismissed. We cannot be paralyzed by death. The animals that remain alive still need our attention. We must still care for our families after a loved one’s death. But we must not dismiss their deaths or do everything we can to make them more comfortable for ourselves. We are the living that continue on. Those dying deserve the maximum comfort we can provide. Not our desperate search for ways we can be more comfortable (and removed) from their deaths.