I saw a man,
An old Cilician, who occupied
An acre or two of land that no one wanted,
A patch not worth the ploughing, unrewarding
For flocks, unfit for vineyards; he however
By planting here and there among the scrub
Cabbages and white lilies and verbena
And flimsy poppies, fancied himself a king
In wealth, and coming home late in the evening
Loaded his board with unbought delicacies.
- Virgil, The Georgics (29 B.C.)

I came across this while reading the urban agriculture section of the Beginning Farmers website, and it made me think about what it is that farmers do, and foragers, and how ancient the practice is of growing and finding food. I’m not one for prayer in any traditional sense, or for Christmas. But there is weight when one repeats the same words that others have said, for centuries past, as in written prayers and poems, and there is also weight when one repeats the same actions, over and over. I feel connected to something deeper, when I remember that people the world over and and from long ago are doing what I’m doing — looking for and growing food, putting it on the table, and fancying themselves kings. It’s a ritual of necessity.

The Georgics is a four volume book of poetry whose subject is farming, and you can read it for free.  There are passages about planting vineyards, livestock disease, and gathering honey. A bit wordy in parts, but other sections are very readable. It begins: “I’ll begin to sing of what keeps the wheat fields happy ….”