Right now, I am somewhere in the middle-of-nowhere, in Flyover Country, U.S.A., out by my family’s ancestral farm. I’m unexpectedly here, despite my estrangement from the place, learning about managing a farm just in case someone kicks the bucket and leaves the place in my jittery, incapable hands. And while I am here, I am realizing two things: 1) I cannot survive off of the island of Manhattan for more than a week or so, and 2) farming is fascinating and in need of much research. But it is just not sexy enough to think about, as higher sources than I have recognized.
